Moments of Sanity
by SiriuslyPadfoot'sGal
Summary: Hermione Granger becomes a healer and her first assignment is a longterm patient in the permanent ward. What happens when she discovers her first patient is none other than the Draco Malfoy and he's... insane? Complete.
1. Prologue

A/N: Hello all! Some of you may have read this story before, but I'm planning on revamping it. The plot will remain the same. I just feel that I rushed in far too quickly to where Draco and Hermione have feelings for each other. I know the summary of the story and this prologue seem kind of angsty…but it's really quite comic.

I'm hoping (presuming that all you reviewers keep me motivated) to have this story finished before June, if not sooner. This prologue will be in third person, but most of the story will be in either Draco's POV or Hermione's POV.

I have a general direction for this story, but if anyone has any ideas or requests… they are extremely welcome! Oh… and it is now HBP compatible!

Disclaimer: This one time… I wrote this book and it was about this boy named Harry and his friends and how they could do magic. I became really really rich and everyone in the world loved me…but then I woke up and had to go to my Spanish class… what a drag huh?

Prologue

"Ennervate" hissed a cold voice.

Draco gulped in a breath of air and winced at a pain in his ribs. A dark room came into focus. There were chains on the blood splattered walls and various torture instruments were scattered round the room... hardly a promising prospect.

His stomach sank as though he'd just swallowed an anchor. The muscles of his arms burned with the pain of holding them up. His head throbbed, but he managed to turn it enough to see his wrists bloodied and chained above his head.

The past 24 hours came flooding back into his memory and he let out a groan. They'd found him. At the end of his sixth year, after the incident at the top of the tower, Snape had given him what little money he had and told him to run. Run and don't get caught, whatever you do, don't get caught.

So much for that plan. Pride swirled in his chest to know that at least he'd lasted 3 years. That's a lot longer than most…longer than all the rest probably. It had been three long years since he'd seen anything from his former life—anything he loved. He'd managed to sneak a visit to his mother's grave once. Before one tear could fall, he had heard the snap of a twig behind him and ran. He'd been living in muggle villages and cities across the world. He'd been everywhere from the U.S. to Indonesia to Australia. He'd even hidden in the rainforests of South America for a couple weeks. But always, they were right on his trail.

Stress and fear had become his only companions. He'd been caught in New York City in the states. He'd been stupid. When he'd first arrived there, he was bruised and bloodied from his last narrow escape and a guy named Ross took him in. By the time he woke up, a week had passed. Ross offered to let him stay and Draco obligingly accepted. Only now did he know that had been a mistake. Ross had been his first friend in a long time…first friend ever even.

He'd been ignorant and he'd stayed far too long… 3 months. He'd been planning on leaving, but was reluctant to leave the first place that he had been remotely happy. He'd begun packing his things to leave the next day when they burst through the door with Ross hung limply between two of them.

He pushed the thoughts of Ross's death and of his own foolishness the back of his mind when he heard someone enter the room.

Draco looked up through hooded eyes at the towering form of his father "What..." his voice came out deep and callous from the blood that lined his throat, "where am I?"

Lucius just laughed, "Now, Draco, you know I can't tell you that. You've been brought to the Dark Lord's lair for punishment."

"Punishment?" Draco nearly laughed, "I'm so numb that I can barely feel pain. Why should I fear what that half-blood will do to me?"

Lucius cursed and kicked him roughly in his already broken ribs. He, of course, had been lying. He felt the pain and was far from numb. Emotionally and mentally… yes he may have been numb, but his body still ached with every breath he took.

"You're lucky," Lucius drawled, "My pitiful excuse for an heir, he is willing, after the appropriate punishment of course, to welcome you back into the death eater ranks."

'Shit, shit, shit! What do I do?' Draco thought, 'Hmm... die...be a death eater... die... be a death eater? God, I can't believe I'm going to say this.'

"My dear pitiful excuse for a father, I'd rather die so why don't you just fuck off!" he sneered.

Long, pale fingers closed around his throat restricting much needed breath form his lungs.

"You know better than to disappoint me boy! Do you want to face the Dark Lord's wrath?"

I couldn't help but snap back, "Who would want to face that nut period, he's hideous!"

He top lip curled in frustration, "Damn it Draco. Now is not the time to be funny."

"That wasn't funny, Father. That was true."

Lucius's fingers tightened, his knuckles shown even whiter against his already pale skin.

"You leave me know choice." He hissed low and snake-like.

He raised his wand and Draco knew that his end had come. He felt a flash of anger, fear, and possibly relief. In some odd way it would be a relief after all this time to finally die. It's not like he had much of a life to fight for—no home, no friends, no love.

But instead, Lucius uttered a long and complicated incantation. Draco tried to figure out the curse using his limited skills in Latin, but before he could a blinding white light encompassed Draco's form. He screwed his eyes shut tightly and fear overtook him. For a few brief seconds he prayed. He wasn't sure exactly to whom or what he was praying, but he prayed. But in a matter of seconds the light had vanished and everything had been plunged into darkness.

Draco took a breath. 'Wait a minute,' he thought, 'I'm not dead. I'm NOT dead. But then… what the fuck did he do to me?'

Before he could find an answer his mind went numbingly blank, very similar to the imperious curse. He had no idea what was happening and was terrified. He tried to fight it, but it was still different than anything he had ever experienced. He had no control over his body or his mouth and he would give in to the spell's requests before he could ever summon the strength to fight it.

He heard a voice in the background, one familiar high-pitched cold voice pierced him completely through.

"Master, I'm sorry. It seems my son is not fit to serve you. I am deeply ashamed of his betrayal and hereby denounce him as a Malfoy. I ask that you forgive me for my error in judgment. I have already dealt with him using an ancient curse of the Malfoy family... we have always been quite gifted with… insanity charms." He drawled.

"Get up."

Lucius refrained from kissing Voldemort's robes and rose with as much dignity and grace as he could muster.

"Your mistakes are forgiven, but I never want to see that boy again. If I do, he will not be the only one who pays. Do I make myself completely clear, Lucius?"

"Yes Master, thank you for your mercy."

Draco caught brief snippets of their conversation, but now his mind was drawn into itself. He could hear voices… voices that were not in the room , but inside his head. It was very similar to the imperious curse…there were voices telling him what to do, but it definitely wasn't Lucius's voice in his head. Or at least... it wasn't just Lucius's voice.

Before Draco could stop it, maniacal laughter escaped his lips. He felt a harsh slap, but the laughter continued. It was outside his own will. He felt an arm wrap around his waist and the familiar sensation of disapparating.

There were voices everywhere all around him, but he couldn't understand a one. He was oblivious to the world around him, completely absorbed in the battle of voices in his mind.

_BANG!_

His level of consciousness peaked and he looked up to see his father sneering through a thick glass window.

'Where am I? What's going on?' he managed to wonder through the haze of his mind.

'**Hurt yourself. Hurt…. Hurt…**' A sinister voice sounded in his head. Before he could begin to reject the idea, he gave in pathetically. He threw himself against the glass windows and felt it bend under the impact. He fell to the ground, but despite the pain in his arm he rushed at the glass again. Again and again he collided with the wall until he could no longer lift himself from the ground. And then...he did exactly what the spell told him to... he laughed.

Lucius, disguised heavily, walked to the clerk at the service desk in the permanent ward.

"My name is… unimportant; I have just committed a distant relative of mine, Draco Malfoy, into your permanent ward. I have donated a great deal of money to help his cause and I only ask one thing in return..." he whispered as he slid a bag full of galleons towards the young nurse, "that you remove the name Malfoy from all of his papers."

When the young girl nodded, he stalked away leaving his only son trapped in his own mind and utterly _alone._

A/N: Alright… there's the Prologue…relatively the same…just a little longer and more detailed. The main differences will come with the next chapters (don't worry…hopefully they will still be just as funny.

Oh yeah… and I was thinking of moving the rating to T rather than M? Do you all have a preference between the two?

Review, Review, Review!


	2. The Beginning

A/N: Hello all! So I know I haven't updated in a while…but like I said before… I still have school for about three more weeks… so updates will be scarce…. But after those 3 weeks I'll try and pop them out as quickly as possible.

I hate to sound greedy (screw it! I am greedy!) but the first chapter alone had several hundred hits… and less than like ten reviews. So if you all love me… or are at least willing to humor me… please review! I'd like to get at least 15 reviews for this chapter… although I'd love more!

For those of you who read the first version of this story… I don't know how similar this chapter will be. I have all the old ones saved on my computer at college, but am currently at home and can't get to them.

Recap:

'Where am I? What's going on?' he managed to wonder through the haze of his mind.

'**Hurt yourself. Hurt…. Hurt…**' A sinister voice sounded in his head. Before he could begin to reject the idea, he gave in pathetically. He threw himself against the glass windows and felt it bend under the impact. He fell to the ground, but despite the pain in his arm he rushed at the glass again. Again and again he collided with the wall until he could no longer lift himself from the ground. And then...he did exactly what the spell told him to... he laughed.

Lucius, disguised heavily, walked to the clerk at the service desk in the permanent ward.

"My name is… unimportant; I have just committed a distant relative of mine, Draco Malfoy, into your permanent ward. I have donated a great deal of money to help his cause and I only ask one thing in return..." he whispered as he slid a bag full of galleons towards the young nurse, "that you remove the name Malfoy from all of his papers."

When the young girl nodded, he stalked away leaving his only son trapped in his own mind and utterly _alone._

On with the story…

Chapter Two

The Beginning

(One Year Later)

"SURPRISE!"

Laughter and cheers rang through the small leaning walls of the homely residence of the Weasley clan.

Twenty-one-year-old Hermione Granger grinned as she walked into the burrow to be greeted by her closest friends. Before she could begin to contemplate the meaning of the celebration she was tackled by two flailing masses—one that was distinctly red and the other an unruly black.

She chuckled lightly, "Ron, Harry, What's going on?"

"You graduated you twit!" Ron yelped as Harry's elbow collided severely with his side.

"I mean…" Ron strained, "You graduated you wonderfully remarkable person that I love more than my life!" He finished only to receive a second elbow to his other side.

He groaned, "Second only to my lovely wife Luna for whom I would do anything." He smiled.

Ron looked around to the others with a smile, but when met with the glaring eyes of both mother and sister he squeaked and said, "And of course my beloved mother and sister--- whom I cherish like…. Like… damn I'm running out of sweet things to say. Ah! I got it… I love them more than Harry's firebolt!" Ron finished proudly.

Ginny snorted and glowered, "Gee thanks Ron… it's great to know I beat out an inanimate object. Love you too."

Ron clearly didn't pick up on the sarcasm and said, "You're welcome."

Hermione snorted and the group refocused their attention on her.

It was Harry who spoke this time with a warm smile lighting his pale and tired face, "We're proud of you Hermione. You've lived up to every compliment ever given you." He leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

A cheer rose from the group (dominated mainly by red-heads) and Hermione wasn't sure whether it was for her or the kiss. But those thoughts quickly fled her mind as she was lifted onto the shoulders of the twins.

"Hey! Hey! Listen up!"

"Three Cheers"

"For the brightest witch"

"Not to mention Healer"

"Of the age!" the twins finished shouting in unison.

After Fred and George placed her gently back on her feet, the crowd dispersed into small groups and started mingling.

Fred and George gave her hugs, shoved a glass that smelled distinctly like fire whiskey into her hand, and left with simultaneous winks.

She chanced a sip of the liquid in the mystery cup and her deductions proved correct it was indeed fire whiskey and it burned all the way down her throat, settled in her stomach, and spread a warmth throughout her body.

She sighed. She probably shouldn't drink tonight, but it was a celebration. And a celebration for her at that! Why not… it couldn't hurt to indulge for one night.

Her vision was foggy and her stomach was churning, but she could vaguely discern that a warm body was holding her bridal style and carrying her up a rather long flight of stairs. Her head was lolling backwards and she recognized the stairwell… home.

She was being taken to her apartment where she could sleep…. Ah yes… sleep! Thank Merlin.

The person carrying her was winded and obviously having difficulty carrying up the stairwell. He paused and heaved her up a little to get a better hold.

She groaned with the movement and she heard him chuckle.

"You're awake." He whispered.

She could tried to muster enough determination to answer, but all that came was a disgruntled, "Gruphmahu…" followed by a gurgling sound that most definitely resounded loudly from her stomach.

"Don't worry love… I'll get you home." He whispered.

Recognition dawned and she managed to lift her head up a quarter of an inch to stare into vivid green eyes. She was so thankful that it was Harry taking her home and not someone else. She wouldn't want to tear Ron away from Luna, and she certainly didn't trust the twins not to take advantage of her inebriated state.

She tried to smile, but was interrupted as he shakily tried to continue to hold her and open her front door at the same time. He was having quite a bit of difficulty until she laid her palm flat again the door and groaned, "open…"

The door swung open smoothly without any effort on Harry's part.

"Merlin Mione…" he chuckled (much to the displeasure of Hermione's pounding head), "Even when you're pissed off your ass you're smarter than me."

"nuh…" she groaned, "It's a handy charm. You just never know when you need to get into your apartment quickly and are too impatient or preoccupied to look for your keys." She finished in a quiet whisper.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "preoccupied, eh?"

She managed a pretty fierce glare despite her current state and growled, "Harry I may be pissed _off my ass_, but that doesn't mean I still can't hex _your ass off!"_

He gently lowered her legs and held her at the waist as she adjusted to holding her own weight. She slipped her shoes off and leaned away from him, determined to take care of herself.

"Come on let's get you in bed…" he said, and she would have been extremely tempted had she not just seen the huge stack of paperwork on her desk. She immediately recognized the seal on top as that of St. Mungo's, her place of employment as of yesterday.

She immediately started wobbling towards them, but Harry caught her by the waist.

"No Harry." She said firmly, "It's the paperwork for my first case… you know that I start soon. I need to begin looking over the case."

"Okay" he conceded, "At least let me get you some pepper-up potion and then I'll leave you to your work." She nodded her thanks and he exited the room.

She reached for the top folder and began scanning the patient information.

It seemed her first assignment would be a patient in the permanent ward which meant she wouldn't be doing quite so much healing and a lot more babysitting.

She groaned inwardly and sincerely hoped it wouldn't be Gilderoy Lockhart. Sure he was an ignorant, vain, awful man, but he was just so damn cute. She didn't think she could handle seeing someone as handsome as him in such a sad situation.

She would be working the night shift. She had expected something like this being the rookie on the staff… she would always get the worst assignments. As she read on, she was positive she'd been given the worst assignments. It appeared that her patient had been through 15 healers since he'd been admitted and had a habit of harming others and himself.

She flipped a page to see if it provided a name of the patient. She scanned it quickly, "Patient 1431…." She mumbled aloud to herself…. "Goes by the name of…."

She gasped and the papers fluttered to the floor.

Harry rushed in the room with potion in hand when he heard her gasp, "What is it? Are you okay?" he quickly took her face in his hands and tilted her head up towards his.

"I'm fine." She said quietly and stepped out of his hold. "I'm fine." She said a little more forcefully but not daring to make eye contact lest he discover that she was lying. "I'm just tired… and I… I… found out I had to work the graveyard shift tomorrow night and I was just a little surprised that I was working so soon." She trailed on trying to explain, " And well, I'm just not nearly as prepared as I should be," she said hitting her strive, "And I just have no idea how I'm going to get through all this information before then."

He looked at her peculiarly for a moment and then smiled, "You never change." He ran a calloused hand over her cheek and stared at her a little longer before giving her a light peck on the cheek.

"Don't worry, love. You're Hermione Granger… if anyone can get it done… you can. Now, here." He said placing the potion in her hand.

He waited to make sure she drank it all and then nodded, "Goodnight." He hugged her tightly and whispered, "Don't work too hard."

Hermione's heartbeat gradually began quickening with every second—as she sobered up and Harry moved toward the door. Once the door was closed, she had the sense to cast a silencing charm before breaking into hysterics. She collapsed on her knees and began ruffling through the pages that had fallen on the floor before she found the desired one.

That one form held five letters that made her head pound harder than a thousand hangovers ever could…D…R…A…C…O.

She quickly scanned the parchment for any sign of his last name only to find that there was none. No information about his family or who submitted him. But how common was the name Draco? How many parents are psycho to name their kid Dragon? Come on… scales, claws, sharp teeth, FIRE… doesn't exactly invoke a picture of an adorable little kid.

Could this Draco... her patient… be _the _Draco Malfoy?

That's all folks!

A/N: Well… at least for this chapter anyway. Like I said… I didn't have the original with me… so I hope I didn't leave out any funny jokes or anything from the first one… it's already a lot different from the original in that I chose not to let Ron and Harry know that Draco is her patient. Muahaha!

Anywho… it's Saturday night now… or technically very early on Sunday morning and I don't have school until Tuesday… so I'll make you a deal.

**If I get Twenty reviews on this chapter…** I'll do everything in my power to get another chapter out either tomorrow (or today rather) or Monday. If I don't get the reviews… then you'll probably have to wait until next weekend. Or even the next.

I know… I'm evil. But I do really love you all! And I would thank you for your reviews individually, but we're not allowed to do that anymore. 


	3. The New Draco

A/N: Hello all! Some were a little confused and upset that I didn't update immediately, but I said I would if I got twenty reviews. Which sadly, I did not. But that's okay because I barely finished everything I had to without the extra weight of writing a new chapter.

Anywho… enough chit-chat. Let's get on with the chapter. Oh… and

Important A/N at the end

Disclaimer: If I were J.K. Rowling I would use my immense fortune to create a life-size workable version of Hogwarts. I would sit in Dumbledore's chair and try to get my eyes to "twinkle." And I would sit out by the lake and wait for Sirius Black to come and carry me off into the sunset. DON'T MAKE ME LEAVE MY WONDERFUL FANTASY! Alright, fine… I'm not J.K. Rowling… happy?

Recap: That one form held five letters that made her head pound harder than a thousand hangovers ever could…D…R…A…C…O.

She quickly scanned the parchment for any sign of his last name only to find that there was none. No information about his family or who submitted him. But how common was the name Draco? How many parents are psycho enough to name their kid Dragon? Come on… scales, claws, sharp teeth, FIRE… doesn't exactly invoke a picture of an adorable little kid.

Could this Draco... her patient… be _the _Draco Malfoy?

New Discoveries

SPG

Hermione was calm. She was calm, cool, collected, and completely under control.

Five minutes ago she may have been hysterical, crying, screaming, scaring Crookshanks half to death. But now… now she was okay.

In the aftermath of her… breakdown… for lack of a better word, she was left with hundreds of questions permeating her thoughts accompanied by a surge of panic in her chest.

She sat with her knees tucked up under her chin and her back leaning heavily on her living room couch. She looked oddly juvenile despite the twenty-one years of life that had led her to this moment.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts and realized that throughout her tantrum, she had maintained a firm grasp on the paper that had managed to sober her up better than a Pepper-up Potion ever could.

"Draco Malfoy." She uttered aloud.

She hadn't even thought that name in years, let alone said it out loud.

She closed her eyes and buried memories that she'd been trying to forget for the past year came flooding back.

It's odd how the final battle that had occurred on the grounds of Hogwarts little more than a year ago had seemed to last for days, but when she thought of it now it passed in a quick haze of red and green lights.

The scenes seemed to slow as her mind reeled to the real final battle—the battle between Harry and Voldemort. She remembered the look of anger, surprise, and … _fear_ on Tom Riddle's face when Harry had thrown the destroyed horcruxes at his feet. There was the diary from their second year, the ring that had once adorned Dumbledore's deadened hand, the locket that had been locked safely in Grimmauld Place all along, Hufflpuff's cup, Rowena Ravenclaw's timeturner, and the Head of Nagini.

There was only one left and he was standing in front the boy-who-lived with a gleam in his eye that none had yet witnessed. _Uncertainty. _

_**BEEP, BEEP, BEEP!**_

She was snapped from her reverie as the alarm clock in her bedroom sounded.

Had she really been sitting here for that long?

She hauled herself up off the floor and did what was natural for Hermione Granger.

She began reading.

She gathered the file of 'her patient' as she had begun calling him in her mouth. She had exactly 10 hours before she had to go in for her shift, and she be damned if she wasn't going to be prepared.

So this is where he'd been all these years? She hadn't even heard a whisper of his whereabouts since the train ride home on her sixth year. She was confronted by a myriad of speculations. Was he really crazy? Did the war do it to him? Is he faking?

She growled at the last thought. It would be just like him to fake something like this to get out of being sent to Azkaban.

She sighed at her thoughts and determinedly told herself to stop brooding.

She opened the first folder and laid down on the couch as she began to read.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Three hours, five folders, and 7 cups of coffee later, Hermione had discovered several things that surprised her and a few that didn't.

He'd only been in the permanent ward for about a year. She frowned when she noticed that he'd been admitted about a week before the final battle. If this was all some ploy to stay out of Azkaban, wouldn't he have been admitted after the battle?

And Merlin knows where he'd been in the years between Dumbledore's murder and his admittance. Could he have been with Snape all this time? Surely not. After all, Snape didn't even make it to the final battle. He was killed in battle during what should have been our seventh year. He'd been killed by an Avada Kedavre from Voldemort, himself, an Avada that just happened to have been meant for Harry.

She diverged from the sorrowful path that her mind had already wandered twice tonight and concentrated again on the files.

In the twelve months that Malfoy had resided at St. Mungo's, he'd been through more than a dozen healers. THAT… didn't surprise her in the least. He always was a picky little bastard.

He also had a tendency to hurt himself and others.

'Great!' she thought, 'just what I need. If the fates are so determined that I waste more of my life on Draco Malfoy, why couldn't it be a Draco Malfoy that had suddenly decided that his life's ambition was water ballet… or… or underwater basket weaving. Why did fate have to be such a bitch and give me a violent, psychopathic Malfoy!'

She sighed and decided, 'Eh… violent and psychopathic? So maybe fate just gave me the same Malfoy I always knew and loathed, but it would have been so much more fun to tell Harry and Ron that Malfoy was an evil little git who happened to fancy spandex tights… or tiaras… or even fairy wings."

She groaned. Harry and Ron, what was she supposed to tell them? She could picture the scene now. Harry would clench his fists at his side and Ron's ears would twinge red. Harry would shout something along the lines of, "YOU MEAN MALFOY? AS IN I'M A BASTARD AND SHOULD BE IN AZKABAN MALFOY?"

She giggled at the fact that Harry's words were always in caps lock in her head. That was her best friend, Harry- I shout everything because I only have two levels, normal and pissed off- Potter.

Then there would be Ron's reaction.

He would sputter and say, "He—I—uh—you—git—ahh!" and then he would listen to Harry rant. He would huff and shake his head forcefully in agreement. Then he would get that quirky grin and far-off look and say something stupid like, "Can I come see him? I need another mental picture to file right alongside the Amazing Bouncing Ferret moment. I need a new memory for my Patronus."

They would all laugh, but then Harry would get serious again and say something like, "I don't want you around him, Mione. Ask them for a new patient."

But of course she couldn't do that, it was absolutely ridiculous. She was lucky to even be hired at St. Mungo's. They only hired the best and it didn't help that she had never actually finished Hogwarts. She had of course taken the NEWTS later and succeeded with almost perfect scores in everything, but it had been three years since she left Hogwarts when she took the test, and people were still reluctant to give her a chance.

No. She'd just have to deal with it, that's all. And if that meant not telling Ron and Harry until later, then so be it.

She glanced at the clock, and reluctantly realized that she needed to hurry and eat and get ready for work.

She ate a quick sandwich and then threw on her navy blue, standard issue, healer's robes. She ran a brush through her unruly hair and decided to give up trying to fix it before she even started.

She took a deep breath and walked over to the fireplace. She closed her eyes tight and whispered, "Here I come Malfoy," and then opened her eyes prepared to floo.

She was about to step forward when two heads appeared simultaneously in her fire with a burst of green flames.

"Harry! Ron!" she yelled, "I could have crushed your faces! What are you doing here?"

They both chuckled and Ron grinned sheepishly, "We came to wish you good luck. Uh… Good luck." He finished lamely.

Harry, however, had a peculiar look on his face, "Were you just saying something about Malfoy when we came?"

It was Hermione's turn to sputter, "I, I, well…" Then she looked to her right and was saved as a picture of Lucius Malfoy stared up at her from the latest daily prophet.

"I was just wondering when we were finally going to catch him. Lucius, that is. "she finished.

Harry, who had been made an auror without virtually any effort on his part, nodded grimly.

"I hope so. I can't say much… but we're working on something, something that will hopefully end in catching quite a few former death eaters."

Hermione gulped and answered, "Yes, Right well… I really must be going… you know. But really, thanks for coming by, it was really sweet guys." She smiled.

They both nodded and Harry said, "Well, Good luck and I L-We lo—uh… we'd love to hear about it when you get off."

"Alright…" Hermione said suspiciously. She almost thought that Harry was blushing, but it could have been the effect of his head being suspended in the middle of green flames. Ron gave Harry a peculiar look and with a short "bye," they both disappeared.

Hermione gathered a few folders that she thought she might need and followed their lead, dropping the powder and shouting, "St. Mungo's!"

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Hermione had checked in with her supervisor and was ushered (a little quicker than she would have liked) to the door of her patient.

Her supervisor, Anna, had left with a smile and a whispered, "Good Luck!"

'Luck' Hermione snorted. She was going to need a lot more than that to get through this.

There were so many thoughts and emotions raging within her as she stood in front of this door. Each one battled for dominance as she scanned a label that read "Patient 1431"

Her stomach fluttered with anxiety. What if he remembered her? Would he shout at her? Call her mudblood?

What if he was just pretending to be crazy and he would be just as malicious as ever? What if he hurt her?

She tried to quell her worries. She didn't know if she could do this. How could she treat a patient who she had hated all her life… still hated in fact?

She summoned all the Gryffindor bravery that she held and placed her hand on the doorknob. She slowly turned it, and what she saw was unlike anything she had anticipated… _it was worse. _

She watched in horror, as the… the… thing in front of her tore at its clothes.

His hair was long and unkempt and his face looked unmistakably tired. He had deep circles beneath his eyes and his always pointed features seemed to protrude even more.

He tore at his flesh and she could see through his ripped attire that his characteristically pale skin was littered with scars. He hurled himself against the wall a few times and she noted that most of the scratches were concentrated on his forearm—a forearm that, to her surprise, held no dark mark.

That was what spurred her into action. She closed the door and fled towards him.

"Malfoy." She said quietly, nervous about getting to close to him.

When he didn't respond she stepped a little closer to him and repeated herself, "Malfoy."

She watched in horror as his actions progressively became more violent. He began to repeatedly bang his head on the wall behind him.

"Malfoy!" she tried yelling, but he still had yet to notice her presence.

She did the only thing she could think of to do, she placed her hand on his and said, "Draco?"

He immediately calmed and his eyes snapped up forcefully to meet hers. The eyes that she had once categorized as a deep molten silver that glinted maliciously, were now dull and… dead.

She took in the scars and scratches on his face and the unshed tears in his eyes and she felt something swell deep in her chest, something she never in a million years thought she would feel for Malfoy…

_Pity. _

**A/N: Well… that's the end of this chapter. I was going to write that the final battle had occurred during 7th year, but then I realized that I had Voldemort present in the first chapter… so I decided to have to battle occur about a year ago. **

**IMPORTANT**

**So I was listening to Wonderwall by Oasis today while driving home and had this great idea for a story and I just had to tell you all. I'm thinking of doing it as a one-shot or maybe even a full-story if I have the time. Here's the summary:**

**Draco Malfoy is a seer. And when he sees a vision of his future… more importantly his brush with death, he suddenly finds that he doesn't despise the Gryffindors (one in particular) for their bravery, but is thankful for it. **

**So what do you guys think? I haven't decided whether I will make it HBP- compatible yet… or whether it will be at Hogwarts or Post-Hogwarts. **

**Let me know if you guys think it sounds good!**

**Toodles!**

**SPG**


	4. Hidden

A/N: Hello All! So … I'm officially through with classes! Yay! Everyone dance with me! Or at least humor me so I don't feel stupid!

Anywho… I still have exams and such this week so I can't jump straight into "I'm crazy writing fool" mode just yet! But soon! Soon!

Thank you all so much for the reviews! I tried to reply to those of you that I could… and for those anonymous reviewers out there… THANK YOU!

On… with the story! Oh yeah! And from now on the story will most likely be in the POV's of Draco and Hermione (I will label them!)

**Recap: **She took in the scars and scratches on his face and the unshed tears in his eyes and she felt something swell deep in her chest, something she never in a million years thought she would feel for Malfoy… _Pity. _

Hidden

Chapter Four

SPG

(Hermione's POV)

My eyes are locked on him. I can feel the dull thud of his pulse as I grip his wrist, a wrist that had previously been mauling the body to which it belonged.

Something about him… as he sat there numbly… it captured me. Even though the man that sat before me was a pitiful shadow of his former self, I was fascinated.

I found myself doing what I can never resist the urge to do—studying.

I studied his tame gaze that was at the same time both lifeless and haunting. I examined the contours of his face—now sallow and sunken from his stay in the ward.

I looked around the room at the small standard issue bed, chair, sink, and toilet (all of which were magically bound the walls). I did not envy his situation… not that I'd ever envied Malfoy.

Okay… so maybe a couple times in potions when he got perfect scores without any effort because Snape was a bigoted bastard… but that's beside the point.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I had a job to do—a job that did not consist of standing and gawking at my former enemy… uh, present enemy… I mean patient… oh Hell! Malfoy… I can't stand here and gawk at Malfoy!

Maybe if I work patiently with him for the next few hours, I can get at least one of the millions of questions swirling in my head answered.

I stand up and say, "Malfoy?"

I watch curiously as he breathes deeply, closes his eyes, and… did he just GROWL at me?

Seriously? Was that a growl or am I crazy?

"Malfoy?" I ask again.

And this time I'm certain… he is definitely growling at me. I place my hand on his trying to calm him again, when he lurches into an all out bark.

Draco Malfoy… Mr. I'm so rich I could wipe my pale little ferret ass with hundred dollar bills… is barking at me… like… like a dog.

If only Ron could see him now.

That was an awful thing to say! Stupid! Bad Healer! Awful Person for taking advantage of a helpless patient! I should slap myself!

SLAP

Holy bleeding hell mother of Merlin, that hurt!

And wait a second… I DIDN'T EVEN DO THAT!

Which means… Malfoy/ Ferret/ Raving Lunatic/ Dog Boy… just slapped me.

It's taking every single bloody ounce of my maturity not to slap the little cockroach across the face.

Merlin, why me? Really? I'm a good person, aren't I? I helped Harry defeat Voldemort. I fought for House Elf Rights. I don't drink… except those few times when I was really really pissed off. I don't sleep around… except for those few times when I was really pissed off, got totally pissed, and well… yeah.

But do I really deserve this?

I garner all my will-power, tackle Malfoy to the floor, and scream, "Calm down Draco!"

And again, he miraculously complies.

Reluctantly, I'm beginning to realize, that it may be for the best to part with my habit of calling him Malfoy… or Ferret… or cockroach… or bastard… or any other name for that matter, and just call him Draco.

I sigh… realizing that I've quiet literally tackled my patient to the floor (-1 for Hermione Granger, 1 billion for who ever the fuck decided to make Malfoy my patient). I obviously lose.

I pull myself up off the floor and groan.

Malfoy's laying flat on the floor, and I try to tug him up by his hand, but he's dead weight.

Mumbling obscenities under my breath, I wrap my arms around his waist and prepare to heave him up off the floor…

"If Harry could see me now…" I mutter.

(DRACO'S POV)

I feel… pathetic. I'm like some weak little toddler hiding from the monsters that go bump in the night. Here I am hiding in a dark and twisted cavern of my own mind trying to escape the voices in my head.

Stupid fucking father and his stupid fucking spell.

Draco Malfoy is not pathetic. I am not weak and I am certainly not… pitiable.

I fought it. I fought it for months. I thought, surely if I could escape being captured by Voldemort for three bloody years, I could handle a couple voices.

But this spell…. It's different. It's not like the imperious… I can fight that off. I have absolutely no control over my body… it's like my mind and body have been completely detached and I no longer have control.

It's an ironic punishment for a Malfoy—always calm, collected, and in control—to be at the mercy of stupid fucking voices.

Like I said… I tried to overcome it. But it was like watching someone else (some crazy motherfucker) living in your body. It was worse than watching that reality television crap that those muggles watch (yes… I know what t.v. is! When you're on the run, you don't have much choice about where and with whom you seek refuge).

After watching yourself beat, uh, yourself and do insane things for so long, you start to think that maybe it would just be easier to really go crazy. You start to long so much for an ounce of normalcy that you're almost willing to sacrifice your own sanity for the sake of familiarity.

The more I tried to fight it, the more hold it had on me. When it became so difficult that I nearly surrendered to it, I decided that my Malfoy ways would just have to burn in hell. Damn my pride and damn my control—I decided to run.

And that's why I'm here, hiding like the wretched creature that my father made me.

What were the voices like? It's hard to say. Sometimes I heard the voice of my father… or Severus. Sometimes I heard Dumbledore on that tower, I heard him offering me protection over and over again. Sometimes I could hear Potter…. And believe me that annoyed me to no end. Then there was Granger…I had far too much of her annoying know-it-all tone.

Other times… it wasn't a particular voice… it was just THE voice. I believe it even had a name… figures, even the voices in my head are so fucking cocky.

But the voices were nothing… some of them brought back memories I'd rather not face, but I could deal with that. Others annoyed me to no end, but I could deal with that too. It was knowing that the voices controlled your body completely and having to watch it that made you want to sell your sanity for a second of silence.

I shudder when I think about what my body may be doing at this very moment, while I'm sitting here holed up in some cramped room in my mind, unwilling to come out. As strange as it may sound, even though I can no longer hear those commands or watch helplessly as my body gives in, I can still feel it. I can feel the spell as it infiltrates farther and farther into my mind. Damn my father! Damn him!

But hell… I can handle it…after all I'm a Mal—shit. That doesn't work anymore now does it? I'm not a Malfoy anymore… and I won't ever be.

But I'm still Draco. And I can still handle anything that stupid spells throws at me.

So I may have to chill here in a subconscious chair in a subconscious room in… well… my subconscious, but I'm still me.

I'm still cool, smart, and damn sexy. But I know I don't have to convince you all of that.

Bloody Hell! Who am I kidding? I miss my body! I miss tasting food and seeing the sun. I miss reading and even studying. And damn do I miss sex!

Hold on.

Wait. Am I going crazy? I must be… I've finally cracked. Any minute now I'm going to do something crazy like I don't know… weaving baskets upside down and underwater.

I must be crazy… it's the only explanation because… because I can't _feel_ it.

If I didn't want to get my hopes up I'd swear the spell was gone.

I tentatively open the metaphorical door of the metaphorical room in my mind and then I find myself running.

But I'm not running because I'm scared. I'm happier than I've been in years.

Imagine a subconscious little Draco skipping through the figurative hallway of my mind—quite a sight, eh?

I'm getting closer and I can actually hear my own laughter. Laughter not caused by some spell, but by my pure undulating joy.

And that's when I hear her voice… Granger. She says something about, "If Potter could see me now…"

And suddenly I'm terrified. The spell… I can't feel it… but I just heard Granger's voice plain as day. Maybe I really am crazy. Maybe this spell has just gotten smarter and tricked me. I begin to panic.

That's when I see through my own eyes for the first time in Merlin knows how long.

And I see her. So I'm not just hearing Granger's voice in my head (well I am… but his time she's really there)!

I want to scream and kick and shout, but all I can manage to do is mutter with a voice that hasn't spoken intelligible words in months, "Granger?"

Her head snaps up to meet mine… and I see… bloody hell, she's studying me! Stupid bookworm. Well… smart bookworm…. Oh whatever!

Then I see recognition followed by surprise in her eyes.

"Malfoy?" she asks.

She's knows…. She knows it's really me. I can see in her eyes that she understands that this me is different from the other me… the crazy me.

I can't believe I'm going to say this… but Thank Merlin for Hermione Granger's brain!

All thoughts of why Granger is here fly from my mind.

I open my mouth to tell her all about my father, and the spell, and demand that she help me (while throwing in a couple of insults of course), but then everything changes.

In a moment, everything comes rushing back at me and I can feel the spell like a pressure pushing in on me.

And I know the spell's back. But this time I'm not running. Something is happening… something about the spell is weaker, and there's no way in bloody hell that I'm going to hide away again.

**A/N: I'm not very happy with this chapter… but I needed to get it out there so I could continue moving with the story. I know the whole bit about him being in his mind is a bit confusing; hell it's confusing to write it. **

**But soon, we'll be jumping right into the story… this was the last of the "set-up" chapters. **

**About the other story…the seer story… I can't get the freaking thing out of my mind. I'm thinking about that story rather than sleeping at night, it's ridiculous. But I can't make up my mind about several things. Would you all prefer a humor/romance or a drama/romance? If there's anyone who is interested, I'd love to have someone to throw around some ideas with and maybe get some opinions.**

**Anywho… I was disappointed with this chapter… hopefully you all weren't. Feel free to review and give your opinion and/or suggestions!**

**Love, Peace, Potter!**

**SPG**


	5. Voices

A/N: Hello all! Well… I am officially done with school! yay So… I should have a lot more time to write now. I will however be gone for the next two and a half days… which is why I worked my butt off to get this out first. But when I get back I'll have a blissful 2 ½ weeks with nothing to do but sleep and write.

**Also… I got a request last chapter that I go back to the writing style I used in the first couple chapters (third person). I am going to do that for this chapter (sort of)… but I need everyone out there to tell me which way they like it better. I can't put it all in 3rd person. Draco's part must be in a POV… and you'll all see why very soon!  
**

**The Bold, Italic, and/or underlined words during Draco's POV… are the voices in his head. Yeah… enough said. **

Anywho… it's chapter time!

Recap: "Granger?" . . . And I know the spell's back. But this time I'm not running. Something is happening… something about the spell is weaker, and there's no way in bloody hell that I'm going to hide away again.

Voices

Chapter 5

SPG

Hermione Granger was… shocked. There was simply no other word for it. Her heart was pounding so heavily in her chest that she feared it would break out of her ribcage.

It had just been a moment. An infinitesimal moment… but it had happened all the same. In that instant, where he had said… or whispered really… her name and she had looked into his eyes, she knew that _something _was different.

When she had first entered his room that night, the sight of his once molten silver eyes transformed into something so lifeless had been etched into her memory forever. And she knew… she was positive… that the eyes she'd seen in those short seconds were anything but lifeless.

They were exactly how she remembered them, only now they weren't so guarded. She could easily see the weariness, the hopelessness, and even defeat burned into his smoldering silver gaze.

She exhaled a shaky breath and ran a hand raggedly through her tumultuous curls. So many emotions had flared up inside her when she met his familiar stare. First, she had flinched with worry that this Draco… the real Draco… was going to yell and call her names that sent an ache straight to her heart (no matter how much she pretended that it didn't affect her). She of course felt confusion and a desire to solve the mystery that had suddenly developed before her. But there was something else… _relief?_

Had she been glad that maybe he was back to normal? Is it okay to be happy for Draco Malfoy? It's not as though he deserved being crazy… or did he?

Her head was spinning and all she really wanted to do was close her eyes and wake to find that this was all a dream. It would be great not to wake up to find Draco Malfoy… but to a normal psycho. She laughed at her own oxymoron… well… as normal as people in St. Mungo's can be.

Unfortunately, despite her wishes, Draco Malfoy was her patient. This was real. But suddenly she found her self questioning just how real his insanity was.

But why would he fake it? To avoid being tried for war crimes? But wouldn't there have been a hell of a lot more publicity if that was the case?

She sighed and shook herself from her thoughts. She, unfortunately, was not being paid to sit here and think.

That's when her eyes were drawn back to the man before her. He was currently laying flat on his back, making motions much like a child making a snow angel. Only, his movements were jerky and spastic and every couple of minutes he would close his eyes tightly and mumble something that sounded oddly like "won't, won't, won't."

She took her time as she scanned his form. She noticed again his ripped clothing, scars, and unkempt hair. He looked like he hadn't been bathed or even been cared for in months. Then a section from his file flashed before her mind. He wouldn't let anyone touch him. They'd tried to restrain him several times and give him calming droughts, but when they tried, he had performed what they called ,"natural defensive magic" which successfully prevented them from being about to bath or groom him (except for the one time when he'd fallen asleep).

She frowned when she remembered that he rarely slept… only once had he slept for more than an hour.

Something swelled within her. At first, she would have called it pity, but it seemed slightly stronger.

Her bookworm determination took hold and she decided that she would be the one to do what no healer had done. She would prove her skill not only by helping him, but by forgetting her personal opinion of him and their rather turbulent history.

She sighed deeply (she seemed to be doing that increasingly… today) and made her way cautiously towards Malfoy.

"M—Draco." She murmured as she carefully rested her hand on his forearm.

He didn't react to her at all… but at least he didn't feel the need to protect himself against her. She wondered vaguely why out of all people… he didn't feel threatened by her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was slightly offended that he feared other healers and not her. Surely she, more than anyone else, had a motive to harm him.

"Draco, I'm not going to hurt you."

'But I should…" she thought to herself.

"I'm just going to clean you up a little," She wrapped her arms around his middle and with some difficultly dragged him shakily to his bed.

After she got him settled, she looked him over.

"Merlin, I don't even know where to start." She mumbled.

She decided to start with his hair. It was greasy and tangled. She mumbled a spell and it became clean, but the tangles remained.

She groaned and thought, 'I've never been that gifted with hair charms.'

She began directing the strikingly blonde hair with her wand, attempting to get it to untangle itself.

"Oh… forget it." She growled.

She conjured a small bowl of warm water and a comb. She then proceeded to work out his tangles the muggle way. She was surprised to note that his body didn't respond in any way to indicate that he actually knew what she was doing. Could he really not feel her? Was his mind that separate from his body?

After about twenty minutes of tugging and combing she managed to get his hair untangled. She did one last cleaning charm and smiled at her results.

It was a little longer than it had been in school, but it didn't look bad. If the real Draco Malfoy were here he would probably demand that she slick it back and then get her filthy mudblood hands off of him. But he wasn't here…. so she didn't slick it back and she didn't move away from him.

She then moved to stand over his bed. She decided that he desperately needed some new clothes and probably a bath, but she wasn't about to tempt that. He could live with a cleaning charm. She looked at his ripped shirt and decided it would be easier just to rip it the rest of the way than to try and slip it over his head.

The shirt was ripped from the bottom up about 4 or 5 inches. She grabbed at the top of the rip, pulled, and watched as the rip grew until it reached the neckline. She lifted up his shoulder enough to slip the shirt out from underneath him.

She blushed a deep crimson when she realized how odd it would sound if she went out with Harry and Ron only to tell them, "I ripped off Draco Malfoy's shirt today."

She allowed herself a small giggle before she returned to her work. She looked curiously at her pants and decided against trying to remove them herself. Instead she banished them with a swish of her wand.

Her blush deepened when she looked down to see that Draco Malfoy…HER PATIENT… laid before her clad only in the hospital issued white boxers. She shook her head fiercely to derail her thoughts and muttered a cleaning spell. She then conjured a new set of clothes. She was about to put them on him, when she decided to look him over… He was fairly calm. His fists were clenched tightly and his muscles pulled tight. His eyes were clenched shut and he was shaky mildly.

But he still looked ten times better… and not just because he was practically naked. She scanned his form and was captivated by the scars littering his body. It would have been very easy to become enthralled by his body. He was still lean and muscular despite having been locked in the place for nearly half a year.

She might have been the least bit aroused by the body in front of her, but that feeling was quickly overpowered by pity once again. She studied all his scars and wondered briefly, "Did he do this to himself?"

She saw several scars across his chest and remembered with a pang the "sectumsempra" curse that Harry had hit him with in their last year at Hogwarts.

She saw a large gash on his left side that looked like it began at his second rib and stretched almost to his navel. She gasped and fell to her knees. She was positive that he could not have done this here. And she remembered seeing him after the incident with Harry and there certainly hadn't been a gash on his side that large.

The smaller cuts were obviously self-inflicted with his fingernails, but this had to have happened sometime between sixth year and six months ago when he was admitted. She tentatively reached her hand forward and traced lightly from the top of the scar to the bottom. It was smooth with a few ridges that had remained from the healing. The shaking of his body subdued with her touch.

She frowned when she realized that tears were gliding steadily down his cheeks.

She whispered, her voice laced with worry, "Where have you been all this time Draco… and what happened to you?"

DRACO'S POV

I'm not panicking. Malfoys…. I mean I… I do not panic. I can hear a voice calling me and it sounds exactly like my father.

**_Draco? Ah, decided not to hide like a coward anymore, did you? Where are you? I know you're here…. I can sense you. _**

Can you sense this, Fuck off!

**_Tsk. Tsk. Language, Draco. I think it's time you learn to play nicely, perhaps I should teach you. _**

I don't do anything nicely. I'm a Malfoy.

_**That's where you're wrong I'm afraid. You're NOTHING!**_

No! No I'm not!

_**Hah! You're pitiful. You're not worth the dust on my shoes. You're worse than that mudblood bitch taking care of you…**_

NOOOOOO!

I'm not nothing. You're nothing!

Do you hear me?

Where are you?

_You're evil, Malfoy._

Potter? Just what I needed… Potter's voice in my head.

_You deserve whatever you get Malfoy. You're just like you're father._

I… am… NOTHING… like … my…. Father, Potter!

_Hah! You keep thinking that way Malfoy. I saw you. I saw you that night on the tower. It's your fault that Dumbledore's dead. You're a killer. _

No. I didn't kill him. Severus did. I… I… I didn't.

_You would have. You're nothing but Death Eater scum, just like you're father. You'd do anything Voldemort told you to do. _

No. No I wouldn't! He made me. He threatened to kill my mum. I had to!

_You wanted to do it. You wanted to be just like him. _

NO! I DON'T! I hate him! I wanted nothing to do with him. It's why I ran! I ran for Three bloody years!

Three years Potter!

I'm not a death eater! I don't even have a dark mark!

_Draco? Is that you darling?_

Mum? Mum!

_Yes Darling, no need to shout, we wouldn't want to appear uncivilized. _

Mum… Mum. I'm so sorry. I tried to save you I did. I… Lucius… the Dark Lord… I tried Mum, I promise.

_You failed me Draco. _

No… no… I tried. I would have died for you. But Lucius… he was holding me back. I tried Mum.

_You were a disgrace Draco. A disgrace to the Dark Lord. _

No… don't talk about him Mum… he killed you… he's the disgrace!

_To your Father…_

Mum… he let Vol-Vol—him kill you. He didn't care about either of us!

_And to me Draco. You failed me. It's your fault I died. _

I LOVED YOU!

I loved you, mum.

… I'm sorry… so sorry.

It's entirely my fault. I'm sorry.

… I miss you…

Mum? Mum…

". . . been Draco… and what happened to you?"

My heart begins to pound heavily, but my body relaxes. I'm vaguely aware of wetness on my cheeks, but my entire mind is focused on one thing… the spell.

It's gone again and I can hear Granger. And… and…she's touching me… I think.

And… it's c-cold in here… I feel like I'm practically naked.

I open my eyes slowly…not used to having control of my own body.

"Gran—Granger?" I whisper and my dry throat burns.

I feel her hand abruptly draw away from my side and she leans over me to look in my eyes. Her eyes widen and again I can just tell that she recognizes that this is the real me.

"D-Drac… I mean Malfoy… Is that you?" she asks.

I tried to say yes, but it burns so bad that I just manage to give a quick nod.

"What… what is going on? What are you even doing here? And what's with the crazy act? Are you acting crazy? Or is this an act? I'm so confused… What is going on? Why does it say your name is only Draco and not Draco Malfoy? Why will you let me touch you, but you've attacked every other healer?" She rambled.

"Just shut up Granger!" I whisper fiercely and I wince with the pain.

Her mouth is open in a small "o" and she blushes lightly and closes her mouth quickly.

I clear my throat and clench my fists at the pain, " Not… much.. time. "

"Not much time? I don't understand… just quit pretending to be crazy… really… this is quite ridiculous—"

I summon my fiercest glare and she shuts her mouth quickly. I open my mouth to tell her everything again when I feel my thoughts start to slow… I'm losing control… it's coming back.

I gasp trying to get out a word… any word. Granger's eyes are wide and she looks like she's about to cry from worry.

"C-curse…" I stutter and then all my control is gone.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Curse? What curse?" Hermione whispered urgently as she leaned over his body.

"Malfoy? Draco? Come back! What's going on?" she yelled.

His body began to convulse violently and she grabbed him by the shoulders in an attempt to steady him.

"Ssshh… Draco… calm down… it's okay… everything is okay."

She is startled by a resounding knock on the door.

"Hermione? Are you in there? It's Harry."

Hermione jumped to her feet in panic. She couldn't let Harry see Draco.

"Uh… yah Harry… I'll be out in a moment. Just finishing up." She yelled over her shoulder and she dressed Draco's body with the flick of her wand.

She waved her wand to restore all the overturned chairs and things to their rightful position.

She took a deep breath, stepped out the door and closed it behind her quickly. She immediately stepped in front of the file on the door that held Draco's information in an effort to prevent any curiosity on Harry's part.

"You do realize that you were officially off-duty twenty minutes ago…" he smiled.

"Haha…" she laughed and raked a nervous hand through her hair, "You know me… I was just so excited. I guess I went a little overboard."

"You guess?" he chuckled.

"Okay… so I did go overboard… a lot." She smiled sheepishly.

He gave a bark of laughter and then took her hand, "Well… I'd love to hear everything about your day, but I'm afraid I have some rather important news."

Relief filled her, knowing that would have time to come up with some story to cover up everything about her first day at work.

He tucked her hand gently behind his elbow and smiled brightly, "I, my fair lady, am here to escort you to quite the celebration."

"A celebration at this hour of the night?" She laughed, "Whatever for?"

He turned to face her and the excitement on his face was evident…

"We captured Lucius Malfoy."

**A/N: Hmmm… I believe that was my longest chapter yet! Yay! **

**So how did everyone feel about the writing style? Was it okay? It was a little weird to switch back and forth between 3rd person past tense to first person present tense…. But I think I did okay. **

**Anywho… like I said… I'm out of school which means… "I'm a crazy writing fool" mode! **

**BUT… it also means you all have to keep me motivated. If I'm going to try and get out a chapter every day or every two days… then you guys are gonna have to keep me excited!**

**So…. Review, Review, Review!**

**Love, Peace, Potter!**

**SPG**


	6. Theories

A/N: Sorry guys! I was going to try and get another chapter out yesterday night, but I had to baby-sit my cousins and they were like staring over my shoulder, which was awkward enough without adding fanfiction to the mix.

Anywho… I think most everyone liked it in the 3rd person… so it will be staying that way! If anyone else has any questions or suggestions feel free to let me know!

And a big Yay! because this story now has over 3,000 hits! Yay! (if only I had that many reviews!) : ) 

Interesting Discoveries

Chapter 6

SPG

One year. In one year, he'd lost everything he'd ever had. He'd given everything he had in this life to his Lord—a Lord who lost and left him with nothing to do but hide.

He'd given up much of his money, his honor, his wife, and his son without any hesitation. And he certainly didn't regret it. If he had the chance, he'd do it all over again, but this time he'd kill those foolish gryffindors before they got the chance to mess things up.

A half-blood boy and his little blood-traitor and mudblood friends had gotten lucky and managed to defeat the Dark Lord.

Lucius remembered the final battle well. Both sides knew going in that the war would end here regardless of the outcome.

Half-way through the battle most of the dark had given up on their masks. They were confident of their victory, and confident that they needn't hide their identities.

What fools they had been. Lucius had his back to the Dark Lord fighting that filthy werewolf, but he didn't need to see the curse to know its impact. He felt it down to the shell of a soul he had left. The pain began in his forearm and diffused through his entire body.

He was lucky. He was one of the few that had the common sense to run while the light was busy gawking at the Dark Lord's death.

It had definitely been something to see. A small ray of green had connected with his chest and in reaction a light so bright burst forth. It was such a strange sight to see that Lucius couldn't decide if Voldemort was emitting the vast light himself or whether his body was sucking all the light from the world around him. If his death was anything like his life, Lucius was willing to bet on the latter.

Lucius, just as sly and cunning as ever, had managed to slip from the grounds and apparate back to his home. He had grabbed as much money and valuables as he could, he'd need all of it to survive on the run. He didn't even spare a glance for the forgotten belongings of his wife and son.

After nearly a year of running and hiding, his funds were exhausted. It became more difficult to sufficiently hide himself, and he became sloppy. He never would have thought that his last night of freedom would have been spent sleeping on the filthy ground in a muggle park.

He was jostled from his thoughts as he felt a chill soak him to his bones. One might think he would be used to the dementors, after all they were a great ally of the Dark Lord.

When he had first been caught and seen Potter's smirking face, he'd assumed that his time in Azkaban would be simple enough since even the ministry wouldn't be daft enough to allow the dementors to remain at Azkaban.

Oh, how very wrong he was. Potter's dirty little mudblood had found some way of restricting the creatures to the desolate island where the prison was located.

So because of that mudblood bitch, he was now being led to his solitary cell that was guarded by three of those vile creatures. Without a trial, it had been decided by Scrimgeour and Potter that he would receive the kiss in two weeks time. Except this time, he had no Lord to help him escape.

He heard the chink of keys. He opened his eyes to see the turn of the key, and the opening of the last place he'd ever see. He was thrown to the floor, and his once long and elegant hair, now dirty and tangled, fell in front of his eyes.

He wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. Both surviving Malfoys had chose two strikingly different paths, but had ended up exactly the same.

With a jerk of his head, he flipped his hair behind him and raised his chin with pride. Regardless of his state now, he was a Malfoy. With a vengeful laugh, he knew his son didn't even have his heritage any longer.

He felt a shiver course through his body and he knew the dementors were coming to take their post. He could hear them coming and before he could prepare himself, he was engulfed by memories that he'd long ago tried to forget.

"_I'm disappointed in you Lucius, it's true you didn't renounce me, your money saved you from that, but why did you never come looking for me. And do NOT say that you did, I will not have you lie." A cold voice hissed in the darkness._

_Lucius crawled on his hands and knees and kissed the robes of the man before him._

"_Master, I'm sorry, I know I failed you. But I swear on my honor as a Malfoy that I will redeem myself."_

_Maniacal laughter rang through the room and Lucius flinched involuntarily._

" _I have not summoned you here to hear your apologies, Lucius, surely you know that." He knelt beside the submissive form and whispered sinisterly, "I have brought you here… to hear screams" He finished evilly._

"_CRUCIO!"_

Lucius let out a scream of pain as the memories and the pain alike seemed to wash over him anew. His body convulsed with a pain that felt fresh and tortuous. His body continued to contort and shake violently. His back arched and the back of his skull struck the wall supporting him repeatedly. His head connected with the wall brutally three times before his shaking subsided and he slipped into unconciousness.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Hermione's hand left its place on Harry's arm and flew to her mouth in surprise. "You caught him? Really?"

Harry nodded, a goofy smile adorning his face.

"Oh Harry that's wonderful! He was the last of Voldemort's inner-circle, right?" she beamed with pride.

"He certainly was. And _that _I think is plenty of cause for celebration. " he smiled, "Even at this time of the night." He mocked her playfully.

She gave him a glare and a swat on the arm before the let out a happy sigh.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

She smiled and said, "Oh nothing. It just… I don't know. It feels like now we can finally start to move on with our lives now."

He smiled and took her hand, "That's exactly what I was thinking—"

"OH! Harry I forgot to clock out. Give me just a second and then we can go to the party." She yelled over her shoulder as she ran back to the receptionist's desk.

Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair, his heartbeat erratic. He was nervous. He'd known her for more than half of his life and he was still nervous as hell. He just hoped she hadn't noticed.

He was mumbling words of encouragement to himself when she tapped him on the shoulder and quizzical look gracing her face.

He straightened up quickly and offered her his arm.

"Shall we?"

With a small nod she linked her arm with his.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

A chorus of shout and whistles exploded in the room as the two apparated to the burrow.

Harry was quickly bombarded with congratulatory pats on the shoulder and then quickly lifted onto the shoulders of Fred and George.

Hermione was filled with joy at the smile on Harry's face. Over the past year, he'd slowly been opening back up. Smiles were no longer few and far between and his laughter was a common occurrence, especially when Fred and George were involved.

She was quickly hug (or tackled really) by Ron as Luna stood behind him clucking her tongue.

"Hi Ron… Luna." He nodded. "How is everything?"

Ron grinned broadly and said, "How do you think we are Herms… we just caught Malfoy!"

Hermione chuckled and said, "Of course… I'm sure you're enjoying today more than Christmas."

He tapped his finger and thought for a moment, "That's a tough one… it's hard to beat Christmas dinner."

Luna laughed and moved forward, "Food and quidditch… at the top of his list those are."

"Right behind my beautiful wife of course…" Ron smiled and slipped his arms around her waist.

Hermione smiled as she watched them rub their noses together. They were an adorable couple… sickeningly so.

That swirling feeling that she got so often started in her stomach. She'd never really had much time for love. Between books and her immature boys and the war, she hadn't exactly led a normal life. She always thought she'd either meet someone in school or she'd meet a nice man in the ministry, but she'd been hoping for so long that it almost seemed to be an unattainable desire.

"You know what would make this day better than Christmas?" Ron grinned. "If we got to lock up the other Malfoy, too."

Hermione blanched and her heart began to thud persistently in her chest. She felt and pair of hands squeeze her shoulders lightly.

"What are you guys talking about?" Harry asked.

"About how great it would be if we caught the other Malfoy, too." Ron said.

Hermione could feel Harry stiffen as he came to stand beside her. He still wasn't quite over Dumbledore's death. And he had difficulty blaming it all on Snape after the man had died to save him, so that left Draco.

"I… um…" Hermione interrupted, "Do they, uh, know where he is?"

She noticed that Harry's hands were clenched by his side and he replied, "I'm not sure. When I first got my auror job at the ministry I checked out his file, and he's not even on the wanted list. His file was labeled closed. If I had the energy to hope, I would say that he's probably dead. At least that's what the ministry seems to believe anyway."

"Does it say he's dead?" She asked, trying to make her interest appear minimal.

"Not exactly," Harry replied, "But the only time they close a file is when the criminal is no longer a threat to the community—they're either dead or captured."

"Bloody Hell…"Ron interrupted.

"Are you sad Ron?" Hermione questioned.

"Hell yes… I'm sad I wasn't there to see him die." He said with a frown.

"Ronald!" Luna and Hermione cried in unison.

"I'm sad I wasn't the one to do it." Harry mumbled quietly.

Hermione stiffened at his words. She was fairly sure that she was the only one who heard, considered Luna was busy reprimanding Ron and Ron was busy cowering in fear.

Ron and Luna were still arguing quietly and Harry turned to Hermione, "Herms… do you think I could talk to you outside for a moment?" he asked.

Hermione shot one last glance toward the bickering couple at her side and nodded her consent.

He took her hand in his as they carefully made their way through the crowds. They were stopped a couple of times by friends, but Harry kindly promised that they would catch up later.

When they finally made it out of the burrow, Harry led her to the side of the house and seated her on a bench beside one of Mrs. Weasley's rose bushes. He made no move to sit beside her and Hermione grew worried. He stared out towards the small shed across from them on the grounds and took a deep breath.

He finally came and sat beside her, but made no move to look at her.

"I don't really know how to start this…" he said with a nervous laugh.

"For as long as I can remember… my entire life has revolved around Voldemort. From the time I was born to this very day. I didn't want him to be in any part of my life, but at the same time I couldn't afford to put anything else above him." He finished in a quiet whisper.

Hermione scooted a little closer to him and linked her arm with his, gently resting her hand on his forearm.

He looked at her then with a small smile, but then turned his gaze back to the land.

"Even after I ki—the final battle, " he took a deep breath, "He was still everywhere I went. It was like my duty was not only to destroy Voldemort, but everything he created, too. It was my obligation to rid the world of his followers, too.

"I'm not naïve enough to think that all of the death eaters are gone. But at least I know now, that those who were closest to him, those who pose the most threat, are gone. I don't know… it feels as though I can finally focus my life on something besides Voldemort, you know?" Harry turned towards Hermione and gingerly took her hands in his.

She nodded silently and he continued, "You and Ron and the rest of the Weasley's have always been a huge part of my life, but as much as I wanted to put you guys first, I had to concentrate on Voldemort first. I feared for you all more than I can say. I had to do everything I could to destroy him before he could hurt you all."

"That's over now, Harry. He's gone and we're here. We'll always be here." Hermione supplied quietly.

He gently ran the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand, "I know. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I was wondering—"

"Mr. Potter?" a voice interrupted him.

Harry sighed and turned away from her.

"I don't mean to interrupt, "Rufus Scrimgeour said, "But I must be on my way and there's something I must discuss with you before I leave."

Harry nodded and stiffly and rose from his seat, "I'll only be a minute, 'Mione."

Hermione smiled as he turned to talk with the man. She heard the first of Scrimgeour's words before they walked out of range.

"Tomorrow I want you in charge of the search of Malfoy Mansion…"

Hermione yawned as the events of the day weighed heavily on her. Her thoughts wondered back to her last moments with Malfoy.

Just like before he has seemed so… normal… during those last few moments. If she hadn't known otherwise, she would have sworn that he was the exact same Malfoy he'd been in school.

Sure he hadn't insulted her, but now that she thought about it she hadn't given him much time to say much of anything. He had difficulty speaking at all. She imagined that his throat hurt badly considering he'd probably only used it twice in the last year or so.

The only thing he'd really said besides "Shut up Granger," was "curse." She wasn't sure what he meant.

She met a girl during healer training that had said "curse" as a euphemism for curse words, but Hermione highly doubted that Draco was one to censor his language.

This could only mean that Draco was talking about a magic curse. Did he want her to curse him to put him out of misery?

Draco didn't seem like the type to give up easily, so she highly doubted he was asking for a mercy killing.

The only logical explanation was that he was cursed. But what curse?Could it be the imperious?

She didn't think so. Whoever was cursing him would have to be near-by and she didn't understand the motive behind him. Keeping up the imperious was far too much work when you could just order the person to commit suicide or something like that.

It could always be demon possession. Hermione wouldn't put it past a Malfoy to conjure a demon for some evil purpose. But his case didn't have the usual symptoms of demon possession. He had exhibited no superhuman characteristics. The fact that he hadn't spoken except for whenever he seemed to be free of whatever was plaguing him was also bizarre.

She didn't think it was demon possession. But what else was there. Some type of insanity spell, perhaps? She was slightly embarrassed to admit that she'd never as much as read a sentence about an insanity spell in all her years. Granted if there was such a spell, it would have most likely been in some book about the dark arts. Such a book would definitely not have been found in the Hogwarts library or her own personal collection.

But a spell would be the most logical possibility. It would be a one time spell, so the person wouldn't have to continue to curse him. But what would explain the moments of sanity that she'd seen? Was Malfoy managing to fight the curse? Somehow, she doubted it. He had seemed just as surprised at everything as she.

If there was such a spell, who would have cast it on Draco? She was positive that it wasn't someone on the light side. Which meant it was either someone on the dark side or just someone who had a personal grudge against Malfoy.

Malfoy's greatest enemies were Harry, Ron, and herself, so she could only assume that someone on the dark side had done the deed. But why? Was it punishment for his failure to kill Dumbledore? But if so, why had he not been committed until a year ago?

Could he have been hiding all this time? Or running? If he had, then that meant he had betrayed the dark side. Or maybe he'd been with them all this time and then had angered Voldemort.

He had been committed about a week before Voldemort's downfall. Could he have possibly done it to himself in an attempt to escape the final battle?

Her mine was running rampant with possibilities when she felt a presence beside her.

She looked up to see Harry beside her with a grim expression.

"What was all that about?" she asked quietly.

"We're searching Malfoy Manor tomorrow. It's supposedly filled with dark artifacts. The library there is supposed to have on of the most extensive collections of books about the dark arts. "he finished calmly.

She immediately straightened and her eyes widened.

Harry noticed and chuckled, "You just can't resist a library can you? I'll make you a deal." He grinned.

"A deal?"

"Yes. A deal. You don't work till the graveyard shift tomorrow night right?" he asked.

"Right."

He suggested with a hopeful smile, "How about I take you to work with me tomorrow and you can have free reign over the Malfoy library in exchange for dinner tomorrow night?"

**A/N: Yay… another chapter up! I wanted to thank all the reviewers again and all those who have added me or my story to your favorites… you guys make my life!**

**And I wanted to wish you all a wonderful summer!**

**As far as updates go, I am going out of town on Friday and Saturday, so I will try to get another update out tomorrow (or today I guess since it's 3:30 in the morning), if I don't there may not be one until late Saturday night. **

**BUT… I may need a lot of encouragement from you guys. Cough Review! Cough**

**Love, Peace, Potter!**

**SPG**


	7. Explorations

A/N: Hello all! I know… I was planning on getting out like one chapter a day or every other day… well… as you probably noticed… plans changed.

As some of you know, I work at a camp during the summers and I normally have to be there on May 27th. But out of the blue, they offered me a Division Head position, so now I have to be there like 2 weeks earlier… like Today.

I've been trying to get a chapter out to you guys before I left, but I went to visit my sister for a day or two… and we got in a wreck while we were there. Some lady liked totally plowed into us. Everyone is okay… I have a concussion because I was in the backseat and I wasn't wearing a seat belt and I hit the window.

But we were definitely lucky because my 2-year-old niece and my 8-month-old nephew were in the car, but luckily they are okay. So… anyway, like I said… plans changed.

But I did my best to at least get something out to you guys before I left. I will be back for a slight break on the 22nd through the 27th. So hopefully I'll get more done then.

It will be shorter than normal and for that I apologize now. But I figured you guys would prefer a short chapter rather than no chapter.

Explorations

SPG

Hermione Granger had risen early that morning—whether out of excitement or curiosity, she wasn't sure. She had been delighted by Harry's offer. A visit to the Malfoy library could unearth the information about which her mind had been fruitlessly hypothesizing.

She had been jittery all morning. She'd squeezed her shampoo bottle a little too hard that morning when she had tried to open it. The result had been a few bubble of shampoo shot directly into her eye.

Even the fierce burning hadn't been enough to dampen her excitement. She'd continued with her maladroit maneuvering the rest of the morning. After two broken coffee cups, three drafts of letters to her mum, one rather violent incident (where she stepped on Crookshanks' tail), and a broken strap on her favorite Mary Janes, it was finally time for Harry to pick her up.

She had worried for a moment about her dinner with Harry. She assumed they'd be going directly from work like they usually did with Ron, but somewhere in the pit of her stomach she'd felt a flurry of anxiety. Harry hadn't mentioned anything about Ron coming, but she was sure he had just forgotten to mention it. All the same, she decided to set out a nice a-line skirt and a cute blouse.

She heard a knock on her door and had to contain a squeal of excitement. She grabbed her extra-large tote bad and shrunk it so that she could fit it neatly in her pocket until she needed it.

She ran to the door, threw it open, and tackled Harry into a hug.

He laughed, "You know, if I were a lucky guy, you'd be as excited about me as you are about books."

"Oh you're lucky, Potter." She grinned. "Lucky I don't hex you for being late."

"What?" He laughed, "I'm like thirty-seconds late at the most!"

"Like you said… I'm excited about my books." She grinned cheekily.

"Well then" he continued, "in interests of preventing my demise, we should probably leave."

"Right you are, lucky boy." She laughed.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

When they appeared at the apparition point in Malfoy Manor, there was a flurry of excitement in the air. The capture of Lucius Malfoy had raised everyone's spirits and sparked a renewed vigor in the auror department.

Harry had placed a ministry I.D. around her neck that gave her free roam around the premises. He also placed a gentle kiss upon her cheek before bustling off to do whatever it is that head of the auror department does.

Hermione fingered the tag around her neck as she walked. Harry's behavior had been oddly different lately. It wasn't unpleasant in the least, just … different. He seemed much more carefree and laid back. He didn't have that crease that ran along his forehead, that Hermione knew from observation had rarely left his expression since the war began. The only time she'd seen him this carefree was in his sleep. And even then, his dreams were usually cause for worry as well.

She ran her palm along the smooth, contoured wood of the grand staircase. It was cool beneath her fingertips and she entertained for a moment a fleeting vision of herself sliding down the great banister in a torrent of laughter.

She continued up the stairs, her heels (which she'd been forced to wear in the absence of her Mary Janes) clicking in her wake. As she walked along the hallways which were trickling with ministry employees, she couldn't help but feel a pang for Draco. She watched as his childhood home was being stripped of everything from picture frames, to family heirlooms, to small knick-knacks.

She was about to ask an employee for the whereabouts of the library when an open door caught her eye. She walked to the entrance and peeked in, not wanting to disturb anyone's work. When she saw that it was empty, she stepped across the threshold.

As soon as she took in the room, she knew it belonged to Draco. She could tell it hadn't been touched in years, but at the same time it still held that polished immaculate look that was so characteristic of Draco's life. The bed was stereotypically draped in green and black silk befitting of the former Slytherin Prince. She noted that the grand mirror on the right wall had three large cracks that extended from the outer edges to a point just right of center where they connected in a circle of smashed glass that looked distinctly like the imprint of a fist.

She wondered briefly whether Draco had broken it all those years ago, or whether this particular act of frustration was Lucius's doing.

A trickle of guilt surged through her as she began opening the drawers in a large wooden chest that sat alongside his canopy bed. The majority of the drawers held normal things that ranged from boxers (at which she blushed furiously) to socks to other various articles of clothing, but the bottom drawer caught her fascination.

At first glance it was filled with pairs upon pairs of black dress pants, but by luck she caught site of a barely noticeable seam in the wood at the back of the drawer. She moved the clothing aside and took out her wand. She tapped it once and the small square of wood moved forward and to the side. Her mouth opened in surprise when she saw a distinctly recognizable black satin bag in the small opening.

She retrieved it and slowly loosened the drawstring to find that her assumption was correct. It was one of the never-ending bags she'd seen in a store in Diagon Alley. You could put as many things inside as you pleased and it would never fill up.

Without a second of hesitation, she took a seat on the silken cushioning of Draco's bed and reached inside the small bag. The first thing she pulled out was a small 3x5 moving photograph of Draco and his mother. She smiled as she observed what appeared to be a three-year-old platinum-blonde toddler being twirled around in the arms of a Narcissa Malfoy that looked young and carefree—nothing like the bitter and cold woman that Hermione had met in the top box at the Quidditch Cup so many years ago.

She placed the photograph back in the bag and reached her hand in once more. She felt around for something that might spark her interest and when she felt a book her eyes lit up and she pulled it out.

It was a small leather-bound black journal with the name Draco Xavier Malfoy embroidered in the lower left hand corner in small curly golden script. Her eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.

She let out a slow and steady breath and raised her hand to open the manuscript when she heard a rustling outside the door and panicked. She quickly stuffed the journal back into the bag and pulled the drawstring tight. She slipped the back into her robes and was alarmed to see the door handle beginning to turn. She threw open a door to her left and jumped inside.

She heard Harry's voice fill the room as he said, "I wish I could just torch this place."

She recognized Dean's laugh as it filled the room.

"Whatever happened to Malfoy anyway?" Dean asked, "after that night I mean?"

"I don't know Pal." Harry replied, "Some say Voldemort killed him that night he killed Narcissa, but I'm not so sure."

"But where else could he be?" Dean asked.

"I don't know. That's what bothers me." Harry finished quietly.

Hermione could hear them rummaging through Draco's things and she thought sadly that they probably weren't being very gentle if Harry's opinion of Malfoy was any indication.

"So you ready for tonight?" Dean asked Harry in a teasing tone.

"Haha…" Harry laughed, "I'm a little nervous."

Hermione's interest peaked. What did Harry have to do tonight that would make him nervous? She grew worried at the thought that he might have another dangerous raid tonight.

"Don't be, man." Dean laughed, "If you can defeat Voldemort, a couple dragons, a few hundred death eaters, and like a million dementors, I'm sure you can handle telling your best friend you love her."

Hermione covered her mouth to quiet the squeak that escaped her mouth as she moved backward in surprise. She felt her back hit a wall—a wall that gave way easily and sent her falling on her bum.

She landed with an "Oof!" and heard the hidden door snap back into place. She sat up rubbing her head angrily, and was surprised to find herself in a dark corner of what she could only guess was the Malfoy family library.

She marveled at the tombs that lined walls that stretch farther than she could see and higher than she would care to climb.

She realized with a small smile that perhaps she and Malfoy weren't that different after all. It appeared that the library served as some sort of sanctuary for the both of them.

She immediately retrieved her shrunken tote from her robes and returned it to its normal size. She set off down the closest aisle scanning the titles for anything of relevance.

She spent what seemed like minutes (but really were more like hours) traveling down aisle after aisle with no luck. She'd been tempted to grab a few books that interested her along the way, but reminded herself to stay focused.

She was about to give up and try searching somewhere else when she saw a door to a smaller room also filled with books.

She knew immediately when she read the first title, "Curses for Torture" that she'd found the Dark Arts section of the family library. She was flabbergasted by the size of the room. She'd had no idea that the dark arts were even this extensive. Her knowledge of the dark arts had never extended very far past the unforgivables.

She continued to scour the room until she'd read every title. She exited the room with several books in her tote. _Dark Curses to Control the Mind, __Malfoy__ Family Punishment Curses, Bewitching the Mind, _and _A History of the __Malfoy__ Family _were the most likely to be of help. She shrunk the bag and its contents once more and returned them to the inside of her robes.

The door behind her had just closed with a click when the hidden door from which she had originally entered creaked open slowly. She braced herself, a tingle of fear and anxiety shooting up her spine, but was relieved to see the familiar messy black hair of the Boy-who-Lived.

Her anxiety returned when she remembered the reason she had so ungracefully fallen into the library in the first person.

Was it possible that her dinner tonight with Harry was … a real date? And… he was in love with her?

Her entire face paled except for a small blush painted across her cheek bones.

"Hermione!" Harry walked up to her, "You alright? You look a little pale." He ran his thumb lightly across her cheek and Hermione resisted the urge to shiver.

"I-I'm fine. Just overdid it a little. I got just a little too excited, I guess." She laughed.

Harry laughed and casually draped his arm across her shoulder, "Well, I'm actually about done here for the day, shall we head out? I need to go home and clean up a bit, shall I drop you off at your flat?" he asked.

"Oh… I'm sure I can manage alright by myself Harry." She smiled. "Just pop on over whenever you're ready, okay?"

"Sure, I'll see you in about an hour, Okay?" he asked.

"Sounds Great." Hermione replied. Harry turned to leave and she asked, "Uh… where exactly are we going again Harry?"

He grinned and she noticed the boyish dimple on his right cheek, "Ah… It's a surprise… but dress nice, okay? I'll pick you up around 7:00." He bent to give her the customary kiss on the cheek, but Hermione flushed when his kiss landed on the corner of her mouth, far away from the friendly pecks she usually received.

A/N: Alrighty guys! That wasn't too terrible short, about 2,300 words, but I didn't even come close to covering everything I wanted to cover. But alas… it is 3:30 in the morning and I must be leaving early tomorrow for Camp.

I will be back in about 4 or 5 days and it would be wonderful to come home to a big fat pile of reviews.

Oh yeah! And my birthday is in about 2 weeks… June 4th actually… so any of you fan artists out there can feel free to draw me a dramione birthday present wink or for you authors out there… I love one-shots! Or… you can all just be really nice and leave me a review!


	8. Only Draco

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks so much for the enormous amount of reviews on the last chapter (even though it was short)! I want to thank everyone also for the birthday wishes and for those who were concerned about the wreck. You all are wonderful!

And a HUGE thanks to nady for her Draco/Hermione fan art as a birthday present… I loved it!

My week at camp (DOG (Disciples of God) Week for leadership staff) was wonderful. I'm home for a few days before I go back for the rest of the summer. Updates will be much fewer and I'm sad to say far between. I'll be gone for eight weeks. I'll come home for a weekend every now and then and I will try and get chapters out to you all then.

Some of you will be disappointed because there is no Draco/Hermione interaction in this chapter per say… but there will be next chapter… I promise! This had to come first before the two could meet again!

Only Draco

Chapter 8

SPG

When Hermione arrived home, she took what might have been the quickest shower in the history of the wizarding world.

She was, of course, short on time to get ready for her… dinner… with Harry. She couldn't bring herself the call the meeting a date.

The main reason for her rush was neither Harry nor her appearance. From the moment she had hastily shoved Draco's journal back into the endless back, her hands had been burning with the desire to hold it again.

She had always been a highly curious person, but the situation with Draco heightened that habit even more. Not only did she have a former enemy turned eccentric in her care, but there might possibly be a spell involved—a spell of which she had never heard the slightest whisper.

She sprinted from the shower at a speed that sent her slipping and sliding across the floor. Her hair, hung damp and curly on her bare shoulders as she reached the black velvet bag and reached in deep, searching for the journal.

She retrieved the leather-bound journal and perched herself carefully on the edge of her bed. She opened the book to the very first page and began to read the small elegant scrawl of Draco Malfoy.

_August 7, 1994_

_It happened today. The last few months my Father's meetings have been growing more frequent and lengthy. I knew that they were up to something, but I had hoped more than I've ever hoped for anything else that it had nothing to do with me. Don't get me wrong. Purity of blood is highly important, and people like Granger will always be worth their weight in dirt, but the last thing I want now is to be a death eater like my Father. The Dark Lord for all his so called genius is going about this in completely the wrong way. A true Slytherin would never declare open war against Potter and his band of merry mudbloods. A good Slytherin smart Slytherin does things under the radar. Besides if all the mudbloods were gone, Purity of blood would no longer hold the same value because we would all be the same. I for one rather enjoy having people beneath me. I'm getting off topic. _

_Like I said, the thing I'd been dreading—it happened today. My Father called me into his study and I was worried and more than slightly terrified when I caught sight of the pale long fingers that were resting on the arm of the chair turned away from me. I'm not ashamed to say that I fear the Dark Lord, any sane person would. But I, I have far greater reason to fear him. I, with only my sixteen years of magical training, disagree and have no wish to follow the Dark Lord—that is why I have so much fear. I don't claim to have much of a heart, but the little I have is plainly and completely in defiance of the Dark Lord. _

_When my Father told me of the mission I was to complete, I swear I felt my heart stop beating. I noticed my Father's voice was strained and he was glaring particularly fiercely in my direction. I gathered all the cunning and shrewdness I possessed and prepared to try and worm out of the situation. I explained that Potter constantly watches me, and it would be highly dangerous if Potter became anymore suspicious than he already was. I reasoned that I would be much more valuable as a spy if my position held no chance of being compromised. But I'm afraid the Dark Lord sensed the true meaning for my hesitancy. When he spoke, his voice was hard, as though the mere sound could cut through my flesh. His words were fierce and so cold that I felt the blood freeze in my veins. He… punished… me for my disobedience and made clear the stipulations of which my duty held. _

_If my task was not completed, he would kill my family. I'll admit that my first thoughts were of saving my own life for my Father didn't mean much to me. But then a vision of my Mother, bloody and mangled, invaded my mind and I was shaken. My mother was often cold and distant, but only because she had to be. Lucius ruled with an iron hand, and there were to be no emotions shown under his roof. I remember when I was seven and my mother first taught me to play the piano. She sang me a song she had written specifically for the two of us. She sang of how, one day we'd have a life away from darkness and a life away from pain. She sang of sunshine and raindrops and flying through the trees with the breeze at our backs. My true moments with my mother were few. So few, that I could count them with my fingers, but I felt more loved in just one of those moments than I've felt in all the other moments of my life combined. _

_It was then that I agreed to the task. I knew that I had to find a way to complete it, because my mother and I had not yet reached that day—the day when we would fly away from our darkness and our pain. I had to make sure that the both of us reached that day. _

Hermione read the last words and realized that a steady stream of tears had flowed from her eyes across the swell of her cheeks. She certainly didn't like Draco Malfoy; she was offended by his beliefs and disgusted by his comments. But she was also heartbroken over the situation that he had been forced into at the mere age of 16. Sixteen—it seemed so long ago now. The past five years of his life had been completely changed by that one day, that one decision.

Her curiosity coupled with her lack of sufficient time induced her to turn to the very last page rather than reading onto the next page.

She opened the back of the book and flipped through several blank pages at the end until she came to the final entry.

The writing was much less elegant than before and the entry was short. It was obvious that he'd written it in a hurry before leaving the journal behind forever.

_He killed her. I tried to save her. We were going to run, escape. But he killed her and Lucius let him. He just let him. I'm scheduled to die in the morning. But… Snape… Severus is going to help me escape. I leave at Midnight, and then I'm on my own… forever. _

Hermione felt a pang in her stomach as she read the words. Voldemort had killed his mother and Draco, only seventeen years old, had managed to escape with the help of Severus and ran. She quickly did the math and realized that Draco had survived on the run for roughly three years before he was put into St. Mungo's.

Again, she was perplexed by this turn. It was obvious to her from his few moments of sanity that he certainly didn't want to be crazy. So that ruled out the idea that he might place himself in St. Mungo's. She was fairly confident that it wasn't the doing of the light. If Harry ever got his hands on Draco, she was sure he would have met a much worse fate than St. Mungo's. That left only the dark.

Had he been captured? Why not just kill him? And why all of a sudden was the spell (if that's what it was) wearing off now? It was obvious that Lucius had not died as punishment for Draco's failure, he had, after all, been captured earlier in the week.

Then it clicked… _Lucius_.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Harry Potter was nervous. Hell, he was more nervous now than he'd been fighting Voldemort. Blood, Gore, Violence—those were things he could handle. But love? What guy in this world really knew anything about it?

The Savior of the wizarding world was currently pacing back and forth in front of the entrance to apartment 26B clad in an expensive looking tuxedo. The hero of the Great War was reduced to a puddle of nerves as he stood at the door of the woman he'd loved for as long as he could remember.

What if she didn't love him back? What if she thought of them as 'just friends'? What if she was in love with someone else? What if it ruined their friendship?

Questions were bombarding his mind and it took everything he had not to scream out in frustration. As he prepared himself, he closely resembled a man preparing to receive an Avada straight to the chest.

He grimaced and knocked on the door 3 quick times. He heard a rustling behind the door and something that sounded distinctly like "Shit!"

"'Mione? You alright in there?" he called and gently opened the door to peek his head in.

"Ahhh!" Hermione screamed before hiding behind the couch.

Harry Potter blushed from the scar on his forehead down to his toes. He'd just walked in on Hermione Granger, Know-it-all bookworm, his best friend, and the girl he loved… only in a towel.

He let out a horrified, "I'm sorry!" before slamming the door back in place.

"Uh… it—it's okay Harry! I, uh, just got a little distracted and lost track of time, I'll be out in no time. Uh, just let me get into my room and then you can wait in here." She called.

Harry heard more rustling and the padding of feet across the floor. When he heard the click of a door he carefully opened the door, his left hand plastered across his eyes. When he heard no scream, he removed his hand, and saw that Hermione was already in her room.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Hermione despised using magic to fix her hair, but under the circumstances she had no other option. With a wave of her hand, her hair was dried and set in ringlets with one side pulled above her ear and held with a golden clip.

She quickly pulled on her undergarments, followed by a shimmering golden knee-length dress that brought out the natural glow in her hair. As she slipped into her golden heels, she applied her makeup with the wave of her wand.

She tucked the journal carefully back into the black velvet bag. A strange sensation told her to keep the bag with her so she tucked it gently into her golden clutch.

She was mortified about the situation that lay ahead of her. She was more confused than she'd ever been in her life. And Hermione Granger prided herself on always understanding everything.

She opened the door silently and watched in amusement as Harry held his head in his hands, shaking it back and forth furiously, muttering things to himself under his breath.

She smiled and cleared her throat gently. His head shot up, his eyes wide in surprise, embarrassment, and a small twinge of fear. His eyes softened as he took her in completely. Hermione blushed under his scrutiny and lowered her head.

Her heartbeat quickened as she watched his feet near her. She didn't dare let her eyes travel up to the rest of the person attached to those feet. She had a strong feeling that she'd be doing a great deal of blushing tonight.

His feet came to a stop directly in front of hers, "You're beautiful 'Mione."

Her throat felt oddly dry and she looked up. She'd been told that she looked beautiful on a few occasions, but that was different than being called beautiful.

He held out his hand for her to take and she noticed 4 small scars completely in a line across his palm. The sight was oddly familiar and she had a suspicion that Draco's hand's held the same scars.

She placed her hand underneath his and brought his palm closer to his face. She could see the look of panic on his face at her bizarre action and quickly asked, "What are these scars from Harry?"

He cleared his through lightly and turned his hand so that their palms met.

"They're cuts from my own fingernails," he replied, "from fighting the cruciatus."

A strange sensation washed over her, but she didn't have time to name it because Harry gently pulled on her hand and tucked it behind his elbow.

"Shall we?" he asked.

She sighed playfully, "If we have to…"

Their gentle laughter began the night as they left her apartment. Harry had arranged for them to travel in a horse drawn carriage. Hermione was delighted and impressed. The night was like something she might have seen in a muggle movie.

There was only slight problem. When she watched those movies, and pictured nights liked this, there was always a distinct feeling that came along with it. It was a mixture of excitement and anxiety and adoration and hope and lust and maybe even love.

When Harry gently draped an arm across her shoulder and wrapped a curl of her hair around his finger, she didn't experience that giddy sensation that she'd always associated with romance.

It wasn't that she wasn't enjoying the time. She loved it all! Everything was beautiful. The conversation was smooth and easy, and she was already having a fabulous time. But if felt no different than everyday, it was just a normal day where she happened to be dressed up and doing something special. Did that make any sense?

She resisted the urge to growl in frustration. Shouldn't a moment like this be so amazing that her mind would be unable to focus on anything else? Instead her mind was occupied with thoughts about what this should feel like and what it didn't feel like.

They reached the restaurant and still she had reached no resolution to her worries. She and Harry continued chatting about his work and about the latest raids. They gossiped about Ron and Luna and Neville's potions professorship at Hogwarts.

As they entered the restaurant, she blushed a deep crimson. It seemed every guest was staring or whispering. A few were brave enough to even snap a few pictures. She glanced at Harry and He pulled her into a secluded room, where they couldn't be seen.

She was overwhelmed as she entered the room. The dark room was lit by candle light and a small band sat off to the side playing a slow and enchanting tune.

As Harry pulled out her seat for her she said, "Harry, this is amazing. You really didn't have to go through all this trouble."

"Like you said Hermione," he said, "the war is over. It's time for me to do all the things I never had the chance to do before."

"Well," she laughed, "I'm honored that an elegant dinner with me was at the top of your list." she smiled.

He slowly reached across the table and covered hers with his own, "Hermione… you've always been at the top of my list. You _are_ my list."

Hermione's stomach dropped. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. She wasn't completely blind. She had thought that Harry might have feelings for her, but she had never really been prepared to answer him.

She could probably marry Harry one day and live a perfectly happy life. But was it so wrong to want something more? How could she spend the rest of her life getting to know Harry if she already knew everything about him?

Was it wrong to want that thrill? Didn't she deserve to feel that feeling—the feeling of being upside down and right side up all at the same time?

She supposed it wouldn't hurt to maybe date Harry and see if maybe that feeling would just come with time.

She never got the chance to reply because at that moment a large grey owl swept into their room and landed with a loud hoot on her shoulder.

"I, uh…" she mumbled as she removed the letter from the owl's leg.

_Dear Healer Granger, _

_St. Mungo's is terribly sorry for the inconvenience this may cause you, but we are in dire need of your assistance. We have been unable to contain your patient, Draco, and have been told that he took to you rather nicely. Again, we hate to do this to you, but for the good of St. Mungo's and the health of your patient, we request your immediate presence at the Permanent Ward. _

_Sincerely, _

_Thomas A. Grayling_

_Head of St. Mungo's Permanent Ward_

'Oh no… Draco' she thought.

"Harry I hate to do this to you, but I really have to go. That was St. Mungo's and they need me immediately. Thank you for all for all of this and I promise I'll make it up to you somehow."

She placed a light kiss on his cheek and flew from the room.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was left alone with out an answer to his profession of his feelings, without a date, and without a clue of whom Hermione had left him for.

As Hermione flew from the room without Harry in her wake, a new wave of whispering started and a dozen or so cameras were flashed in her direction.

As bizarre as it seemed, neither the gossip, the cameras, nor even Harry was on her mind…

_Only Draco. _

A/N: Well… that's all. I had intended to make it longer, but my time off disappeared rather quickly. It's 2 am and I'm leaving tomorrow and am no where near packed.

I'll get the next chapter out as soon as I have a weekend off where I can come home!

Thank you all for everything! And wish me luck at camp! If you believe in prayer, your prayers would be greatly appreciated.


	9. Moments with Malfoy

Disclaimer: People keep on coming up to me thinking that I'm J.K. Rowling...I just don't know what to do... (and if you believe that... I have some space boots to sell you).

Ch. 9  
Moments with Malfoy

As Hermione rushed out the door, she could hear the clicks of the cameras in her wake. She should have felt awful for leaving Harry in such a situation, but relief was the emotion swelling in her chest.

What would she have said to Harry? He'd gone through so much trouble setting everything up and was obviously very nervous. She'd probably just walked, or ran rather, out what he had hoped to be the biggest night of their lives.

She was relieved that she never had to answer his statement. What could she say—I'm sure I could be positively happy with you Harry, but I would rather not. Or maybe she could just tell him that a life by his side would be great, but she wanted something wonderful.

She crumpled the letter she held in frustration. She turned sharply and disappeared from view, leaving quite a few disappointed on-lookers behind.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Hermione threw open the door, hating herself for being so worried about a person like Malfoy.

The first thing that caught her eye was the utter mess of the room. The wooden chair was on its side and only one leg remained attached. The other three legs were thrown various places across the room. The standard issue bed that is magically bound to the wall had some how become undone and was turned completely upside down. The mattress sat shredded with springs protruding from several gashes about three feet away.

That was when she saw a table that had been conjured in the middle of the room. Four male orderlies stood over it looking exhausted and breathing heavily. The table was made of a dark grey metal and looked like something one might see in a creepy muggle horror movie. In terror, she noted that the table bore large leather straps about 4 or 5 inches thick. The orderlies prevented her from seeing any more of the scene. One of them leaned closer to another to say something and in the gap she saw a pale hand with long thin fingers. Her stomach dropped and she noted with revulsion that his fingernails were broken and bloodied.

Her momentary shock passed quickly and in a booming voice that was eerily reminiscent of Molly Weasley she cried, " WHAT HAS BEEN GOING ON HERE!"

Three of the orderlies were startled and upon seeing her face, cowered and fear. The fourth was tall, strong, and handsome with a name tag that read "Jake."

"Well, 'Lo there missy, They told us you'd be comin' Miss…" He glanced down at the pin that hovered right about her chest and smiled, "Granger."

He moved a little closer and said, "Don't you worry your pretty little head about a thing. You got yourself quite a nutter here, and I'm sure glad we're were here to detain him. Wouldn't want a psycho like him to rough up a petite little lass like yourself. Is there, uh, anything else I might could do for you?" he said with a leer as his eyes roamed over the golden dress that hung so tight on her small frame.

"Oh gosh!" she replied airily, "Jake is it? Well… I'm just so glad that there are big, strong men like you around. And there are a… couple more things you could help me with." She grinned.

"You could…" she giggled fakely, "NOT call me 'missy'. You will call me Healer Granger; you will not call my patient a nutter! And you will REFRAIN FROM STARING AT MY BREASTS!" she yelled, her breathy whisper now a full-out Molly Weasley rebuke.

He joined the other three orderlies cowering even farther in the corner.

"Now… gentlemen… your services are no longer needed. "She smiled sweetly, "SO GET OUT!"

The four of them took off running like four jr. high boys who just got beat up by a girl—a comparison that gave Hermione great pleasure.

"Not bad, Granger." Came a hoarse voice.

Hermione felt her heartbeat pick up slightly and let out a groan that sounded distinctly like "Oh shit!"

She turned around and finally remembered the reason she'd gotten so upset with those guys in the first place. There was THE Draco Malfoy bound by leather straps to a table. She felt like she'd just fell into a page of Pansy Parkinson's diary.

She moved towards the table slowly and the knots in her stomach only increased. The damage was much worse than a few broken fingernails. He was covered in bruises and his nose looked like it had taken one… or five… too many hits to the wall. There was a large gash on his forehead that looked to be bleeding pretty profusely.

She gasped, "You're bleeding Draco, I mean Malfoy, or Draco or… you… You are bleeding." She finished lamely.

"Am I?" he smiled.

Hermione nearly choked on her own tongue. Draco Malfoy never smiles… ever. Only Draco Malfoy would smile for the first time (in his whole life probably) when he's bruised, bleeding, and strapped to a metal table.

"You're bleeding AND you're smiling?" she said in disbelief.

"So I am." He replied.

He continued smiling and she was struck by the incredible difference between scowling Draco and smiling Draco (not to mention Drooling Draco).It was actually somewhat nice to see him looking happy. He didn't look half as haggard. She shook her head, realizing that any train of thought where it was nice to see Malfoy happy, was clearly a bad train of thought.

She cleared her throat, "So, um, you're not crazy… right now?"

"No, No I'm not." His smile widened.

"Well, that's um… good. You've actually been sane for like 5 minutes now."

"Sure have." He smiled… more.

"Well… Will you stop bloody smiling and tell me why in the name of Merlin you're a part-time nutter!" She yelled.

"Well, I suppose I could do that. But I was rather enjoying the effect my smile has on you." He smirked, and all traces of that innocent smile were history.

"Oh. You—I – Ugh! Just shut up!" She sighed in frustration, "So I did a little bit of searching and ruled out demon possession."

"Granger that might've been the sweetest thing you have ever said to me. I'm touched, really." He chuckled.

"Oh I hope you swallow your ego and choke on it." She snarled.

"That's not a very nice way to speak to your patient Granger."

She ignored him and continued on, "I also decided it wasn't an act. Because let's face it. We all know you're a horrible actor after that stunt with buckbeak. Even Parkinson could tell you weren't really hurt, she was just wanted to play nurse." She had to refrain from gagging at the thought.

"You know Granger, if normal girls are made from Sugar and Spice, what are you made from? Dirt? A skull? Everything dull?" He snickered.

"Oh shut up! It's not as though you know anything about making anything. I bet the only thing you've ever managed to make alone is a couple of ferret droppings."

"For your information, know-it-all, I can make lots of things, like tea, and coffee…" he trailed off dismally, "Oh and muffins! I make a mean muffin!"

"Maybe I was wrong… perhaps you are demon-possessed." She replied.

"Oh… get over it Granger. Would you get me off this table already?" he growled in aggravation.

"I don't know," She contemplated, "I think I like you better on the table."

He paused as a sneaky smile spread across his face, "You sounded a little like Pansy there… 'Mione."

"First of all," She scowled, "don't call me 'Mione. And second of all, gross. I don't need to hear about your sexual explorations with that cow. How you could get off on that…I'll never know."

He laughed and she fixed him with a curious glare. Malfoy was here smiling and laughing almost like he was… happy. What in the world did he have to be happy about right now?

She shook her head and undid the straps, releasing him from the table.

"There… now get up and tell me what's wrong with you. Other than the obvious facts that you are spoiled, annoying, foul, despicable, should I go on?" She grinned cheekily.

She turned to find Draco Malfoy completely zoned out with a small puddle of drool forming near the corner of his mouth.

"Great… He's back to being nuts and I still no nothing." She said under her breath. She was relieved that he at least seemed passive now. If he had gone violent and started throwing things, she wasn't entirely sure she could restrain herself from using her wand.

'Well' she thought to herself. 'Seeing as how my first lead is currently incapacitated, I think it is time to consult darling drooling Draco's diary.'

She grinned wickedly, " Oh… Karma is my BFF."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Harry Potter sat slouched in his seat with his head in his hands covering the scar that had made him so famous. He'd been sitting here for minutes (that felt like hours) thinking. He'd only really wanted two things badly in all his life. He'd wanted to avenge his parents and defeat Voldemort… and he'd wanted Hermione Granger by his side. He didn't just want her as a sidekick or a friend or part of the golden trio. He'd wanted her and he wanted her to want him back.

He'd been planning to tell her tonight… to tell her everything. He was going to tell her how she meant everything to him, that when he fought Voldemort, it was her he was fighting for, not his parents. He cared more for her safety than the safety of the entire world. He would have given anything to just make sure she was happy.

Now, he was in a dimly lit room decorated for a romantic night for two. Everything was according to plan, except for the fact that he was now alone.

The sorrow that had been weighing heavily in his chest began to ignite and slowly flame into frustration. What could have been so important that she had to leave in such a hurry? She'd been working for a little less than a week, what could they need her for that someone else couldn't do?

He could hear the whispers and the excitement outside, and that only fueled his anger. She'd left nearly twenty minutes ago and still people were waiting outside for him.

He stood abruptly and rushed for the door. He grabbed the handle and pushed the door open violently hearing the hinges creak under the pressure. He rushed from the restaurant hiding his face from the flashes that engulfed him. He headed for the exit determined to go after her and get an answer out of her.

He stepped from the restaurant into the cool star-sprinkled night that doused his anger like water to the flame. He took a deep shaky breath, surprised at the anger that had taken hold of him so easily. He covered his eyes in shame, glad that he had come to his senses before he had found her and done something even more regrettable.

As his anger cooled, it seemed that it had only intensified the weight on his shoulders. He closed his eyes and prepared to apparate home when he heard the flap of large wings behind him. He recognized the ministry owl and his shoulders slumped in stress.

He removed the letter from the owl's proffered leg and noticed regrettably that it was stamped "URGENT". All thoughts of Hermione Granger and his bizarre love life flew from his thoughts. If he had been a normal auror, the likelihood that this letter held bad news would be about 50... a fairly good percentage. BUT… unfortunately he wasn't just any auror, he was the head auror. And he wasn't just any head auror; he was Harry Potter. This increased the possibility that this letter brought bad news by about, oh, 49 percent.

Perhaps the world would have pity on him. Surely after the worst first date with your best friend who you've really loved for years in the history of the world, he would be spared more trouble.

Alas, he was Harry Potter… and it seemed that trouble had his number on speed dial. As he read the letter he wasn't sure whether his heart was about to explode, crumble, or just stop working all together.

It was a bad day this morning when he spilled coffee on his favorite shirt. It was a worse day when he walked in on his best friend (whom he loved and cherished and blah blah blah) naked. It was the worst day of his life, when she walked out on their date for her job. It was worse than all his bad days combined because she walked out after he just confessed his feelings for her. Now, today was officially worse than being locked in a room with Voldemort, Snape, and Umbridge for an entire year. Why? Because a prisoner had escaped from Azkaban. And not just any prisoner… but one due to receive the kiss in little over a week.

It just happened to be the kiss that Harry Potter was looking forward to see most. Some might call it morbid—the joy he had in anticipation of watching a death eater receive the dementor's kiss. But one could also call the very life of Harry Potter morbid. When he'd finally defeated Voldemort, he'd been tired and sick and in pain. The only thing that kept him going had been hate. Hatred had been the fuel that kept him moving, living and breathing. And each time he witnessed the dementor's kiss it served to evaporate some of the hate that had so powerfully captured him.

And he had needed to see this kiss more than any other, for he had so much hate for this prisoner. This man was hate in human form. Harry's insides burned with anger. How could the ministry be so stupid?

Harry furiously crumpled the letter and shoved it deep in his pocket. He would not be apparating to St. Mungo's to see Hermione, nor would he be going home. He was heading to the ministry to see if he could fix their fucking mistake.

He pulled his coat closed as the wind fiercely bit and clawed at his uncovered face. He'd worked so hard to find that scum and now he'd have to do it all again.

Before disappearing with a murderous crack, he lifted his chin into the wind and hissed, "Lucius Malfoy."


	10. Broken

A/N: Incredibly sincere apology for the wait at the end of the chapter….

**Important So last round I told you that the 250th reviewer would get a role in Moments of Sanity. NOW… in order to make it more of a surprise. I have chosen a number… a number that only I shall know. Whoever's review is that number will receive the role in Moments of Sanity. So… everyone review… and hopefully yours will be the lucky review!**

Chapter 10

Broken

Lucius Malfoy was many things. He was egotistical, cruel, vindictive, evil, prejudiced, sneaky, conniving, and murderous… to name a few.

But now… Lucius Malfoy was tired, angry, sick… and dying.

Lucius was a contradictory man by nature. He held nothing in higher esteem than purity of blood, yet for so long he had served a half-blood. His priority was to see the Malfoy line continue with prestige, but held almost as much hate for his own son as he did for Harry Potter. And now… He was pleased about his freedom, but livid with the price he had to pay to receive said freedom.

Lucius Malfoy, whose very life was defined by self-importance, hated the man he had become. Azkaban had stripped him of his influence, devastated the reputation of the Malfoy name, weakened his body, and marred his mind.

He'd taken his chance at escape and nearly lost his soul in the process, a soul that was almost nonexistent already. Now, he lay ragged and exhausted on the cold, hard earth beneath the swaying canopy of a large tree. A fierce breeze blew through causing the proud man to shiver like a child away from his mother's warmth. Deadened leaves drifted slowly from the tree above to join him on the parched and dying earth.

Lucius Malfoy, a man of fortune who prided himself above being above the filth of this earth, sat covered in a thin layer of dirt, and made a decision. If he had to die in such a wretched form, he'd be damned if he didn't take someone down with him.

And who better than the bratty boy who'd taken everything away from him, the boy who had twice put him in Azkaban… _Harry Potter._

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

_May 19th, 1995_

_He's been caught. My father…he's been imprisoned in Azkaban. I saw Potter sneering at me in the hallway and wanted to physically remove his face. It's all because of Potter that my father is gone. _

_Now here comes the tricky part, although I find that my intense hate for the golden trio has only increased, a small part of me—very small—is somewhat relieved. It's not that I hate my father… I hate _Lucius_. Lucius is the man he becomes in the presence of his lord. And now…Lucius fucked up big time. _

_I'm relieved that Lucius in Azkaban because it means my mother is safe. She should have left him long ago…but she stayed with him because of the man he was capable of being—a man we both loved. Alas, it's been years since we last saw a playful smirk, a cheeky wink, or a genuine laugh from father. _

_The Dark Lord, however, is positively livid with Lucius and mother is worried that he had plans for revenge, plans that involve us. Well, the Dark Lord can try all he wants, but no one is ever laying a hand on my mother again. _

_Draco Xavier Malfoy_

Hermione sighed and ran a shaky hand through her curls. She felt a swarm of pity in her gut and a part of her felt guilty.

She had never been one to read the last page of a book first, it was against her reading ethics, but she had done it… and with Draco Malfoy's diary no less. She laughed aloud as she imagined his reaction to her calling it a diary and determined to refer to it as a journal from now on… not that she would be revealing her possession of it anytime soon.

She felt oddly cruel as she read his words and understood his determination to protect his mother. He hadn't wanted anything to do with Voldemort or even Lucius. Now, she wasn't saying that Draco wasn't an asshole—he just wasn't a death eater asshole.

Try as she might, she couldn't seem to muster up much dislike towards him because you see…she knew how this story ended. He may have began writing in this journal as a self-centered, egotistical, cruel, hateful, bigoted prick—but he ended up _broken._

She looked over at him then and let her eyes roam from his bare feet that were callused and slightly dirty to his wrinkled and torn clothing to the top of his dishelved hair.

She pondered his situation again and with pictures of one of his violent outbursts reeling through her mind, she tried desperately to reassess his condition.

Surely, he could just be misfortunate, or getting what he deserved, or even just have a bad day (or decade really). He had to be something, anything besides broken.

She tangled her hands in her hair, her breathing slightly labored. She looked at him again, and with a sharp intake of breath deduced that he was indeed broken.

She could feel the cold creep of change looming in the distance and grimaced because she knew everything between her and Draco had just changed.

She growled in frustration because now… she had to fix him.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

He was furious. He sat in his chair, shaking with rage, as he shuffled through file after file, trying to find some sort of clue—an inkling even—as to where Lucius Malfoy might have disappeared. In sheer frustration, he raked his fingernails over the back of his left hand, hissing at the pain, but enjoying it all the same. He needed the release. The anger was overwhelming and he was teetering on the verge of explosion.

"Mr. Potter?"

"WHAT?" He snapped.

"I'm sorry M-Mr. Potter. An owl just dropped this off for you."

He released a breath he'd been holding, "Fine Gray. Thanks." He grumbled as he snatched the letter.

_Harry,_

_I'm terribly sorry about tonight. You had such a wonderful evening planned and I completely spoiled everything. I'll make it up to you somehow I promise._

_Hermione_

The weight on his chest loosened at the familiar orderly print. He was terrified that she would avoid him, at least now he knew that he hadn't completely scared her off.

He looked at the papers around him. He'd already been through them all twice and visited Azkaban three times. Perhaps he should retire for the night.

_Hermione,_

_You know you are always forgiven. Don't worry…there will be more wonderful evenings ahead. _

_Love,_

_Harry_

He rolled the parchment carefully and tied it with a small maroon ribbon, and sent it off with Hedwig.

"You'll be mine yet, Hermione." He whispered as he turned off the lights and left his office for the night.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco Malfoy was happy. Scratch that he was absolutely ecstatic.

_Something_ had changed. He wasn't sure yet what exactly he was. But one thing he did know, he felt more like himself now than he'd felt in months. He'd actually been sane for a relatively long time and had enough energy to banter with Granger for a while, until the spell took over.

But even when the spell took over… it was different. The "outbursts" were much less violent and more like daydreaming.

He was actually half way aware of what he was doing. For instance now, he had turned his head and was looking softly at one Hermione Granger.

She was reading something, but his vision was slightly foggy, and he couldn't determine what exactly it was.

He felt a coldness run down his cheeks and realized that tears were streaming from his eyes. His torso slowly lifted and he found himself, legs folded in front of him, sitting and staring at Granger.

A spark of indignation burned inside him at the tears on his face. Malfoys don't—He didn't cry. Draco doesn't cry. Shame burned within him at the memory of the one occasion he'd cried, in that cursed bathroom with that crazy ghost.

At his anger the tears seemed to only increase, and his breath hitched, causing Hermione's eyes to snap up.

Her facial expression transformed from shock to confusion to pity and then to determination.

He fumed as she looked at him with pity. He didn't need her pity. But even as he despised her, he found his legs lifting him to a standing position and he moved slowly towards her.

He silently hoped that he would attack her in another violent outburst. It was about time that he attacked someone else instead of himself.

But in horror he watched as his hand reached for hers, and enveloped her small fingers between both of his large, scarred hands.

He watched as her eyes narrowed at the sight of their joined hands and then softened again as she met his face where tears were making a steady, heavy flow.

Draco was disgusted. Just what in the bloody hell was the spell making him do? He could take violent outbursts…but now he was going… soft?

He chuckled lightly at the confused expression on Granger's face and noticed with dismay that he actually let out a loud sob.

Granger finally spoke, "Ma- Draco?" She questioned quietly.

She gave a high-pitched squeak as He quickly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a tight hug.

She remained motionless and he hugged her to his body tightly. What was he doing? This was not the Draco Malfoy she knew.

She tensed as he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, but relaxed when she felt his tears soaking her skin. What in the world had brought this on?

This… was the exact opposite of Draco Malfoy.

Draco was trying everything he could to stop the flow of tears and force his body to move away from hers, but it seemed the harder he tried to get away, the closer they became.

With repulsion, he realized that the were melded together to the point that he couldn't tell where his body ended and hers began.

"Ssssh. It's okay, uh, Draco. I'm here. It's okay." She whispered lightly into his ear.

He was even more distressed to hear her attempts at comforting him as though they were…friends.

But surprisingly, her words served to calm his body. Relief flooded him, as his body pulled back from the hug.

It wasn't until he saw the shock in her eyes that he realized his hand was softly cupping her face.

He rigidly commanded his body to cease all contact with Hermione Granger, but in defiance his thumb traced lazily over her bottom lip.

His body was in complete rebellion of him. He hoped to merlin that Granger would snap out of it and push him away…but she just stood there, unmoving.

He mustered all the self control he could gain and concentrated on stepping backwards, on moving as far away as possible.

Hermione's breathing was ragged and her mind was reeling. She had absolutely no idea what was going on. She had always thought that she understood everything about Draco Malfoy. Egotistical. Bastard. There was never much more to know…but this…there was only one word to describe it… weird.

Her brown eyes met his gray and he began to slowly inch closer. Looking in his yes, she had to admit that he was indeed broken. And if this was how he needed her to fix it…then so be it.

Draco wanted to scream for himself to move away, for her to move away, for everything to just move away, but only found himself moving closer.

Closer.

Closer.

The shock and fear in her eyes mirrored his thoughts as ever so softly his lips met hers.

**A/N: okay guys. I know you all probably hate me because it took so long to get this out. I've been incredibly busy with school and I feel awful it's taken me so long. I'm currently running sound for my University's production of hamlet and I'm basically spending about 15 to 17 hours a day in the theatre. But I made myself spend the only free time I've had this week, so I could get this out to you. **

**I wanted to make it much longer…but I'm running out of time before I have to head back to the theatre and I wanted to get it out to you today. **

**Again, I am great sorry. **

**REMINDER: I have chosen a number in my head….and whoever's review is that number gets to be a character in this fic. So include your name (or the name of the character you would like to have) and maybe a few things about yourself with your review. **

**Love, peace, and Potter,**

**SPG**


	11. A Weekend Off

A/N: Hello all….I know it's been a devastatingly long time, but I beg you for forgiveness…. I recently quit my job (just because I could) and hopefully will have more time…which hopefully equals more updates! Yay! And for those of you interested…I recently came up with another fabulous idea for a story and it's taking me all my self control not to start writing it. But alas… I need to make sure I've got the time for this story before I start another one…

On with the chapter….

Recap: ever so softly his lips met hers…

Chapter 11

A Weekend Off

SPG

Hermione Granger stiffened as a hand ghosted up her side, succeeding in sending a trail of shivers through her body. The hand traveled upwards towards her chest, but remained millimeters away from touching her. The infinitesimal separation between his hand and her body coursed with enough electricity to light the whole of London.

Her temperature soared as his warm breath invaded the skin of her neck. He gave an aggressive nip right below her pulse point and she groaned at how quick it ended. A foreign tingling along her spine became so intense that it was almost painful to remain in her current position. Her entire body was tense with anticipation and her legs had begun to shake with need. Finally, in one movement he seized her and all anticipation was replaced by pure, unbridled passion.

One hand buried itself in her curls to hold her still as his mouth waged war on hers. The other molded itself to the curve of her bum and pulled their lower bodies as close as they could come.

Hermione lost track of her hands, but knew they were flying everywhere in an attempt to gain as much knowledge and explore as much territory as possible. One of her hands took over the job of pushing their bodies together as his hand met the breast that had been so eagerly waiting for his touch.

She moaned as her hand flicked down to his belt buckle in and attempt to remove one of many barriers.

"Say something," she rasped, "anything."

She followed his tongue with her eyes as it darted out to wet his lips. Her breathing became more erratic as he opened his mouth to speak.

"It's 8 am and Wizard's Radio would like to wish you a magical day!"

He closed his mouth and his face was oddly expressionless. Hermione managed to open her mouth in surprise before her eyelids lifted and the morning light assaulted her eyes.

She groaned and reached over to turn off her alarm clock that was ringing with some cheesy wizard DJ announcing the day's weather.

"Curse whoever created mornings." She mumbled as she threw the blankets off her legs.

She managed to throw her hair into a ponytail, get out of bed, and reach the bathroom before the contents of her dream came flying back at her.

One gasp, one scream, and an extreme blush later, Hermione found herself sitting on the lid of her toilet with her head in her hands.

Hermione was horrified at the turn her subconscious had taken, not because she wasn't a sexual being. She certainly had her share of sexual encounters (none of them as intense as her dream, but that was beside the point). Neither did her mortification come from the sex dream itself because she was not a novice there either.

The reason she'd experienced such terror from the recounting of her dream solely revolved around the identity of her lover. She couldn't remember actually seeing his face, but from his touch a vague nagging in the pit of her stomach bellowed that she knew his identity.

She desperately reassured herself that her lover was just a faceless man—a man that she had never met before—or at least that's what she told herself. She consciously blocked her mind from wandering to the happenings the previous night at work and any possible connection it might have held to her dream.

She shook her head and moved to the sink to splash some water on her face. Satisfied that her hysteria was over, she glanced at her watch. She had the entire weekend to herself and many things to think over.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

She'd spent the entirety of her weekend off cooped up in her flat ignoring all floos, phone calls, and knocks on her doors. She'd used every means she could think of to keep her mind off of Harry and Draco, uh, Malfoy.

Even her beloved _Hogwarts, A History_ hadn't succeeded in distracting her. So instead she'd given in to her mind's wishes and took every moment to analyze the actions of the last few days.

She began with Harry, obviously the lesser of two evils. This problem proved to be both simple and complex at the same time.

Obviously, Harry was the perfect man for any girl. He was sweet, loving, kind, and generous. And being the hero of the wizarding world didn't hurt either.

She should have been flattered by his feelings. She should have been delighted by his attentions. She should have been eager to see him again. She should have… therein laid the problem. She should have, but she didn't.

She loved him, God she loved him more than she can say. She would have laid down her life for Harry, and nearly did on a few occasions, but as cliché as it sounded—she only loved him like a brother.

How could she tell him that she didn't love him? He could finally move on with his life after the war, and he wanted to do that with her. She was willing to sacrifice her life for Harry, would it be so bad to give him her heart as well? She could certainly do worse than Harry?

With a sense of dread filling her chest, she decided that she would give things a shot with Harry. Afterall, she owed him so much, it was the least she could do.

She eventually exhausted that topic and reluctantly moved on to Malfoy. This topic was a little more difficult. With a blush, she remembered her last moment of work on Friday. _That _had certainly been interesting.

She didn't really even know where to begin. The hug alone had nearly brought her to tears. He was just so desperate and broken. But then, things had taken a turn to something even more interesting.

She scolded herself for not moving away when it had all started. But when she'd felt his hand on her cheek, she'd found herself frozen. Her mind had been screaming for her to move back with each inch he moved forwards, but her body seemed immobilized. She didn't want to question why she didn't move away. She would much rather analyze him and his reasons for "the occurrence." She refused to even associate her dream this morning with anything to do with Malfoy.

She was positive that he hadn't kissed her of his own accord. He may be crazy 95 of the time, but he was still Malfoy. That meant that the curse had made him do it. But why?

She decided it wasn't healthy for her to dwell on the kiss because quite frankly she was clueless. And it scared her more than she could say.

Instead she decided to explore more of Draco's Journal.

_April 12th, 1996_

_I'm finished. The cabinet is done and I don't know whether to be relieved or horrified. After I finished I stealthily exited the room of requirement and joined the steady flow of students in the hallway. There were dozens of people around me—people I care nothing for—but all the same, with each smile I saw and laugh I heard, the heaviness in my chest grew. Eventually it was so overwhelming that I could feel it pressing in on me, suffocating me. I decided then and there that I wouldn't tell the Dark Lord that I was finished until the last possible moment. These people, regardless of the hate I'd previously held for all of them, deserved every last minute they could get. The pain became too much and I took a sharp turn into the nearest door I saw. I ended up in a girl's lavatory. Thank Merlin there was no one inside. Before I even realized what was happening, I began sobbing like a child lost from his parents. _

_I'm certainly ashamed of my behavior, but I confess candidly that it did a great deal to relieve the pressure in my chest. Amidst all my distress, I was oblivious to the young ghost who joined me. Myrtle was her name. And although I found her remarkably annoying, more so even than Granger, it was a… relief to no longer be alone. Why is it that these people I don't even care for, hate even, are no the cause of my sudden despair?_

_Conscious does make cowards of us all. _

Hermione was shocked to say the least. She didn't know where to begin. The last sentence was still bouncing around in her head. She was certain that she'd heard those words before, but where? Ever the resourceful little muggle-born, she retreated to her computer.

After a little searching, her shock increased ten-fold. The words Draco had written were a direct quote from _Hamlet._

Shakespeare? Draco Malfoy knew AND quoted Shakespeare? What was this world coming to?

Hermione tried not to dwell on the ironic connection between where Draco was now and the play he'd chosen to quote. _Hamlet _was probably the most famous story of insanity ever written. A strange sensation filled her chest and she couldn't put a name to it.

She continued her perusal of the rest of the letter. It took all her self-control not to cry as she reread the words. He could have told Voldemort that the cabinet was finished so much earlier than he did. An overwhelming feeling of gratitude filled her at the extra days of peace he had given Hogwarts.

She had known all along about his time in the loo crying to Myrtle, but now she knew that he hadn't been crying just because of the difficulty of fixing the cabinet, but for the other students. This caused a weird reaction in the pit of her stomach. Who knew that Draco Malfoy was actually compassionate?

She felt oddly shaky and deep down she knew that the last few moments something enormous had shifted. Fear clenched her heart as she realized what had just happened in her opinion towards Draco.

_Forgiveness._

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Sunday Morning came at an excruciatingly slow pace. Hermione was scheduled to be at the Burrow for lunch at one, but of course had been ready to go since 10 o' clock that morning.

After finishing the latest book she'd been reading, she still had a little bit of time, so she decided to pull out that never-ending bag she'd found at Malfoy Mansion.

After she'd retrieved it from its hiding place in her underwear drawer she shoved her arm in until it was elbow-deep. She shifted through a couple of objects before she closed her hand around something cool and thin. With an excited smile she pulled the object from the bag.

Her eyes widened as she examined the beautiful necklace resting in her palm. It was luminous silver that curled around almost like a snake. Resting in the midst of its coils was a silver locket adorned with little emeralds around the edges.

It was gorgeous and she had a feeling that it was a Malfoy family heirloom. Before she could open the locket to look inside, a commotion from the fireplace distracted her.

Ginny Weasley, laden with dust and huffing grumpily, stepped forward. Hermione panicked. She didn't want to risk returning the necklace to the bag and drawing Ginny's attention towards it. Instead, she slipped the locket over her head and tucked it underneath her robes.

After dusting herself off, Ginny looked up and smiled.

"Hey 'Mione. Sorry about just dropping in like this, but I came to see if you could make it to lunch a little earlier."

Hermione sighed, relieved that it was something so simple, "Sure," she replied, "when should I come over?"

Ginny smiled sheepishly and said, "Uh, now?"

Hermione laughed gently and said, "Sure."

She flitted to the counter to get her purse and checked quickly to make sure the locket was still secure around her neck before following Ginny into the fireplace.

**OOOOOOOOOOOO**

Hermione entered the living room a few seconds after Ginny. From the racket coming from the lawn, she was fairly certain that she was the last member of the party to arrive.

She treaded across the lawn to hear Ron shout, "It's about time you got here! I'm hungry."

Hermione laughed and watched as Luna gave him a small pinch on his arm. His cheeks tinged a light pink and something akin to recognition passed in his eyes.

Passing it off as "just one of those Ron things" she took her seat beside Charlie. Her eyes flicked around the table, careful not to make direct eye contact with either of the twins.

"Where's Harry?" she asked.

Her confusion grew as the raucous group grew quiet and Ron's ears grew read. It was a fidgeting Molly Weasley that told her, "He's at the office dearie."

"The office? On a Sunday? And during a Weasley lunch? What is wrong with this picture?" she asked.

It was now everyone else's turn to look confused. It was finally Ron who piped up, "Did you not hear the news?"

Taking in the somber expression on his face, Hermione blanched. This couldn't be good.

"I guess not. What happened?"

She noticed that both the twins had lost their playful demeanor and were not gripping the table with white knuckles.

Arthur became the bearer of bad news, "Um, Friday Night…" he paused.

Her face paled further, Friday night was when she ditched Harry at the Restaurant. She sincerely hoped that he hadn't done something stupid.

"Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban."

Hermione gasped. That certainly hadn't been what she'd expected. She hated herself for feeling relieved that it wasn't something she caused. A sense of dread was building in her chest.

"Oh no… poor Harry." She whispered.

Ron snorted, "Poor everyone."

A few moments of silence passed and then the clamor began once more. People were shouting requests for other to pass the food. Ron, of course, was just reaching across everyone to grab what he wanted.

Hermione's eyes were unfocused and she had reached up to her neck to finger the locket just below the material of her robes.

"Hermione?"

She couldn't believe all the things that had gone wrong over the last few days.

"Hermione?"

There was that disastrous date with Harry and the Senior Malfoy's escape.

"Mione? Hello in there!"

She didn't even want to think about Draco and everything that was drastically wrong with that situation.

"MIONE! Snap out of it!"

She blinked and her trance was broken.

"Oh… I… sorry." She blushed and lowered her eyes.

She turned to meet the large blue-eyed gaze of Luna Lovegood-Weasley.

"Are you alright?" Luna asked.

"Yeah." Hermione nodded, "Yeah. I'm just not hungry. I'm going to grab some coffee out of the kitchen."

Hermione smiled and excused herself before she retreated inside to the kitchen. Several members of the Weasley family exchanged curious and worried glances.

Her mind and heart were both racing when she entered the kitchen and she couldn't exactly pinpoint why. Luna quietly tiptoed into the kitchen and sent a curious glare towards her friend.

"I'm pregnant." She said.

Hermione whipped around to see Luna leaning against the kitchen counter, a Luna who was apparently expecting.

"You're pregnant?" Hermione gasped, still shaky from her previous thoughts, "How far along?"

"Four months actually," Luna smiled, "It's been hell hiding the little bulge in my belly."

Hermione's eyebrows rose, "Why hide it so long?"

"There never was a perfect time. We were planning on doing it today, but all this stuff with Lucius sort of put things off." Luna paused and her eyes seemed to drift to point over Hermione's shoulder.

"Then why tell me now?" Hermione was confused (Of course that was normal in the presence of Luna).

"Ron and I made a deal." She smiled dreamily, "He gets to tell Harry and I get to tell you. Then we'll tell everyone else when the intensity dies down a bit."

Hermione smiled and hugged Luna tightly, "Congratulations. Thank you for telling me. It's an honor, really."

The girls giggled and hugged a few more times before Hermione's thoughts seemed to sober up and return to their previous venue.

Luna noticed the darkening in Hermione's gaze and asked, "Is it Harry?"

"The reason why you're so… shaky… is it Harry?"

Hermione paused and took a little bit more time that she should have to answer.

She nodded, "Yes. Of course, it's Harry."

Luna fixed her with a calculating stare and shook her head, "No. It's not that is it?"

Hermione laughed and said, "Of course it is Luna. I know this is going to be really rough on him."

"Yes." She answered, "It is. But that's still not what is bothering you. Is this about your date on Friday?"

Hermione forced herself to turn around and began pouring a cup of coffee. "You heard about that?"

"Well. Not exactly. Harry has been acting like nothing happened, but we all saw the papers." Luna sighed.

Hermione groaned. She really needed to pay more attention to the news.

"Well…yeah. That's it Luna. It was a disaster and it's just been throwing me off lately." Hermione finished quietly.

"Uhuh." Luna said, staring intently at Hermione's back.

Hermione took a breath and poured out the contents of her coffee cup. Without turning back around she called over her shoulder, "I've got to run Luna, give my regards to the family."

Hermione was halfway out the door when Luna called, "How's work?"

Hermione immediately stiffened and had to grab the door frame for support. She steadied herself with a breath and turned around with a half-smile on her face.

"It's great Luna. Thanks for asking."

Without looking back, Hermione disappeared from the door and left Luna alone in the kitchen wearing a satisfied smirk.

She whistled as she made her way back to the table, suspicions all the while churning in her mind.

A/N: gosh… I had planned to fit so much more into this chapter…but it just didn't happen. So unfortunately…this didn't have any Draco/Hermione action… but hopefully I'll make up for it in the next chapter.

Reviews make the world go round ;)


	12. Reversal

Disclaimer: I've always wanted to be JK Rowling, but first I need to perfect the British accent.

Chapter 12

Reversal

Breathe.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

Hermione Granger had absolutely no cause for worry. Her life was just as normal and as carefree as always.

Sure, everything was exactly the same... more or less.

So maybe within the expanse of one weekend everything about her world had reversed so violently that she was left slightly dizzy and possibly a little nauseated, but that didn't mean that everything was bad.

Who was she kidding?

She was screwed—absolutely, positively, past the point of no return _screwed. _

Exhibit A:

Harry loved her.

Harry loved her and took her to dinner to tell her.

Harry loved her and took her to dinner to tell her, but she ended up running out and leaving him all alone to go to work without a reply to his confessions of ardor.

Exhibit B:

She left him for Draco Malfoy.

She left him for Draco Malfoy, who was insane, only not really.

She left him for Draco Malfoy, who was insane, only not really, and ended the night by touching and hugging AND kissing said person.

Exhibit C

Lucius Malfoy escaped from prison.

Lucius Malfoy escaped from prison and no one could find him.

Lucius Malfoy escaped from prison and no one could find him, and he was probably the reason for Draco's insanity.

Exhibit D (and this was the real kicker, ladies and gentlemen)

This all happened in one night.

Now, Hermione was familiar with odd happenings. Odd was more than her middle name; it really should have been her entire name.

Her life was strange enough when she was eleven and she received a letter from an owl telling her she was a witch.

It was stranger still when she acquired her two best friends by way of a troll attack.

Not to mention the fact that she'd had numerous run-ins with the most evil person to ever walk this earth and still lived to tell the tale.

The truly funny thing is that she had never considered her life odd until she kissed Draco Malfoy.

She could handle wizards, trolls, Dark Lords, Dementors, and whatever else the world threw at her, but one kiss from Draco Malfoy and her entire world was off its hinges.

It might seem odd to some that she was currently lying flat on her back in the middle of the Ministry's atrium, but again, odd was normal for her.

She was feeling... strange. She wasn't exactly sure how to describe the sensation that was gripping her, but she didn't like it.

She felt... wobbly. She felt wobbly, on edge, terrified, and... odd.

But this was odd for her, which was beyond odd. If odd was normal for her, perhaps this feeling was normalcy.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and focused instead on her strange encounter with Luna.

Luna was pregnant. Hermione was a little disconcerted that she hadn't picked up on it sooner. Normally, she was keenly observant about things like that. All this stuff with Draco was throwing her off track.

She groaned. Draco. Draco fucking Malfoy was ruining her life, and he wasn't even trying.

The look on Luna's face when she had mentioned work was slightly scary, and Hermione shivered when she recalled it. She'd always thought that Luna was sharper than most people thought, but she sincerely hoped that Luna hadn't seen through her lies.

A shiver ran up her back, and she remembered that she was lying on the cold floor in the Ministry. She had come here intending to check in on Harry. She was worried about him. He'd been so excited about starting over. She'd blanched, knowing that he wanted to start over with her. And now Lucius Malfoy had managed to rip that hope right out from beneath him. If she knew Harry, losing that hope would anger him more than anything else ever had.

Voldemort had taken away hope and love before Harry had ever really had the chance to know it. But Harry had been given a taste of normalcy—well, as normal as you could call his date with Hermione—and Lucius had stripped him of that. Harry would be angry, very angry, indeed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rage.

It had taken up residence in his chest and seemed to radiate off his very skin. Fire was pumping through his veins, increasing in intensity with every beat of his heart. He'd been here for fifteen hours straight, and not a single fucking thing had changed.

How could all those people who called themselves Aurors be lounging about at home, when Lucius Malfoy roamed free? He itched with the desire to yell at every one of them, to yell at everyone.

With a growl, he sent his ink bottle flying across the room. The light reflecting off the delicate pieces of glass as they tumbled to the ground only infuriated him more. He watched as the ink seemed to soak into the wall and slowly navigate its way down the wall to the carpet. It dripped at an agonizingly slow pace that only reminded him of the ridiculous snail's pace of advancement in this case.

He felt as though every fiber of his being were wrapped tightly around something deep inside of him—wrapped tight and squeezing. With every breath the pressure grew and the feeling of constriction increased. His eyes followed a glinting black drop as it spread to the floor, and something inside him snapped.

In one movement, he'd shoved everything on his desk to the floor.

Hermione, who had been standing just outside his door, closed her eyes in recognition of this rage that had been so familiar during the war.

But something was different this time; something slightly dangerous flashed in his eyes.

She watched in horror as the air around him seemed to crackle with raw, magical energy.

The temperature surrounding him took a sudden, exponential surge and Hermione could feel the sweat forming on her brow.

With a hiss, the parchment on his desk began to smoke and soon his entire desk was ablaze with fire.

Something akin to a smile crossed his face as the paint began to peel from the walls and shrivel into ash.

Hermione's heartbeat began to slow and it felt almost as if a hand were inside her chest, clenching her heart every few seconds. The hand seemed to squeeze tighter and a fleeting feeling in her gut told her to run.

She had known Harry for a very long time, but she had no idea who this man in front of her was. It wasn't the first time that she'd seen things explode when Harry was angry, but now there was this wicked gleam in his eye.

He licked his lips and the slow pace of her heart was abandoned: it began thudding so quickly and fiercely that she feared her heart might fail from the pressure. It was pounding so heavily behind her ears that she couldn't hear the hiss and crackle of everything burning inside Harry's office, but she heard one thing for certain.

Harry smiled and maniacal laughter spilled from his mouth. Her heart skipped a beat and she knew that she wouldn't be speaking to Harry tonight, and perhaps not for a very long time.

She tucked an unruly curl behind her ear and ran. She didn't stop to see Harry's eyes pop open. She didn't slow to see him peek around his office door. She didn't turn around to see the flames around him double as he took in her retreating form.

She just ran. She ran because in that moment Harry had scared her more than Voldemort ever had. She wasn't sure where she was going, but she knew she wouldn't stop running until the fear had subsided and she felt safe.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Draco prided himself on being calm, cool, and collected. It was the way he was raised. From his days in nappies, he had been taught to move with poise and grace. But right now, he was frazzled.

It could be that he'd spent four solid days withstanding the taunting in his head and watching as he quite literally kicked his own ass.

It could be that Lucius's voice had dominated his insanity for the weekend.

Or it could be that he'd kissed Hermione Granger, and part of him had liked it.

Yeah. It was definitely that last one.

He had known from the very beginning that part of the spell's aim was to make him truly insane, and he was beginning to think it had succeeded.

It had started out as completely the spell's doing. With a shudder, he recalled his repulsion as he had found himself crying into her neck. He could recall that she'd smelled faintly of raspberries with a splash of vanilla.

Not a blasted cell in his entire body had desired to touch her, much less kiss her. When their lips had first touched, he had been so focused on ceasing all contact that he hadn't really registered the feel of her against him.

But when her hot breath fanned across his face as she opened her mouth in invitation... well, that had managed to draw away his attention.

Their tongues had met for the briefest of moments and everything had changed. He'd realized that her lips felt like silk against his own, and their bodies had fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

She'd tasted like raspberries and chocolate and something unique that made him think of warm fires and good books.

He'd found that he was no longer commanding his body to stop its explorations. Instead, he'd wished it would speed up. He had wanted to be able to control his own hands, his own lips, if only so that he could have felt and tasted more of her.

But in the mere seconds that he had realized this, their mouths had stopped touching and the inches between them had suddenly felt like miles. Her lips were pink and wet and swollen from their kissing and his hands had itched to touch her, but his body was moving farther away.

He shook himself from his reverie, determined not to let Granger or her intoxicating kisses get to him. He was ashamed of himself.

He couldn't deny that he had enjoyed the contact, but it had been a very long time since he'd been with a woman, so he would have probably enjoyed a kiss from Eloise Midgen. Okay, so maybe that was going a bit far.

He felt a renewed spark of hatred burn in his chest at the thought of Granger. Not only was she everything he despised, but she had managed to make him nearly go insane— really insane.

She was so infuriating. He hated everything about her. He hated how with one look she could break down what he'd spent his entire life building up. He hated that she affected him.

He hated her. He just hoped it would stay that way.

click

If he hadn't known better, he would have said that fate had a personal vendetta against him, because Hermione Granger had just walked through the door.

He must have been one egotistical bastard in a past life, because fate didn't just give him Granger, but Granger in a delectable little sundress.

Okay, so maybe he was an egotistical bastard in this life too, but did he really deserve this?

He tried to be cruel and fix her with a cold glare, but all he managed to do was rock back and forth in the same stupor he'd been in for the last few hours.

She was breathing heavily and he could see a faint glisten of tears on her cheeks. She covered her eyes with her hands and sank to the floor beside him.

He should have found it odd that they sat there together for minutes on end, rocking back and forth together.

He told himself to make use of her psychotic behavior by teasing her later, but at the moment he didn't care.

After a few moments, her breathing calmed, but the flow of tears remained steady as ever.

Words started to pour from her mouth in a jumbled order that made about as much sense as the ranting that usually went on in his head.

At first she managed to whisper things about Harry and rage and Voldemort through her sobbing, but eventually the entire story leaked from her lips.

She quietly recounted her witnessing of Harry's rampant and intimidating anger. She explained the feeling inside her chest as she had watched him destroy the office around him with a a disturbingly joyful smile on his face.

She mentioned how scared she had been of Harry, so scared that she'd run all the way here, not even thinking to Apparate. She leaned towards him slowly and sobbed into his chest about how everything was so damn complicated.

His body continued its slow rocking motion, and he could feel her rocking with him. Their bodies were rocking as one, and he was disgusted.

This stupid wench and her golden trio problems fueled his anger. She was stupid for crying on him and stupid for being friends with Potter. He hated her for being so emotional and weak.

She whispered softly that Harry loved her, and she was going to try to make it work. Or at least she had been before this.

Those words only angered him more, and spurred his body into action.

In a complete antithesis to the fury bubbling inside of him, he lifted her face with his hands ever so gently.

He wanted to scream and berate her and shake her for being so bloody stupid, but instead his thumbs softly rubbed away the stains of her tears. She hiccupped slightly and he noticed a peculiar look in her eyes.

Fear was prominent, but there was something else, too. There was a look of longing. He wouldn't quite call it lust. He was struck with the thought that she probably looked at Potter like this. Longing for comfort... that's what it was. She was afraid of what he might do, but wanted his comfort all the same.

He wanted to snap at her and tell her to go to her stupid golden trio if she wanted comfort, but the inches between them started to become scarce.

She took a slight shuddering breath and their lips met harshly. It was like she was using her lips to suck the compassion out of him.

He wanted to scream for her to stop, but he couldn't. He tried to draw his mind elsewhere and ignore the passion with which she clung to him.

He wanted it to stop, but he knew the only way for that to happen was to allow himself to enjoy it. If he wanted it to happen, it wouldn't.

He tried to think of some other way to end it, some other way to control his body, but there was none.

Resigned to his fate, he took in her closed eyes and the sweat gathering around her hairline.

He watched as she gripped him tightly, and realized that she was truly frightened. And for some reason, kissing him helped.

He allowed himself to revel in the feeling of her breath mingling with his. Her kisses were hungry and passionate and it was easy to get swept away. He caught her lower lip between his and sucked.

A moan floated from her lips and caressed his face. Some of his anger floated back to the surface and he bit down on the lip between his teeth.

The hands gripping his shoulders tightened and her fingernails dug into his skin. But he could tell she liked it. She needed the pain, it released her fear.

His hand traveled to her thigh and with a sharp pull, she was straddling his lap. Their kisses didn't stop, and their tongues danced back and forth in a natural rhythm that fueled the heat coursing between them.

It was Draco who won dominance, because let's face it, he always did. And his tongue explored her mouth with vigor. He traced the roof of her mouth with the tip of his tongue and she hissed. She sucked on his tongue as hard as she could and he groaned into her mouth.

He broke away from her, intending to lavish his attentions on her neck, but something suddenly occurred to him.

He had given in to her kisses, but had yet to move away.

It was then that he realized that the spell was gone. Who knows how long he had been kissing Granger of his own volition. His eyes opened and he watched as she whimpered at the loss of touch.

She looked at him through lidded eyes, panting heavily. He could feel her breasts pushing against his chest and they rose and fell with each breath she took.

Hermione stared at him for a moment and then her eyes widened in recognition.

She realized with horror that the eyes before her sparkled silver and danced with lust and something else. These eyes were not dull, but very much alive. He wasn't under the spell.

With a small "oh," her cheeks were flooded with a vibrant red as she climbed off his lap.

She felt slightly dizzy as she stood, almost as though her entire world was off its axis. Because quite frankly, it was.

Everything about today had been just as screwed up as the rest of her weekend. It was odd that an encounter with Harry Potter had sent her running to Draco Malfoy, when her entire life it had been the reverse.

**A/N: Oh my! Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I cannot express how utterly excited I am! and I know you all are too! **

**So this is my gift to everyone for Christmas! I hope everyone has a marvelous holiday!**

**And last, but certainly not least, a HUGE thanks my beta Renee, aka Eilonwy. If you haven't already checked out her Baby Days stories, you should! **


	13. Spinning

Disclaimer: I don't even know what Deathly Hallows means, so I can't possibly be J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Thirteen

Spinning

_Spinning. _

She couldn't think.

_Blur. _

She couldn't see.

_Spinning._

Her stomach was churning.

_Breathe. _

Everything was dark—dark and spinning.

_Sweating._

What had she been thinking?

_Faster._

She couldn't breathe.

_Faster._

She felt sick… dizzy and sick.

_Faster._

"Oh my God." She whispered as she clapped a hand to her mouth.

Questions were battling back and forth in her mind. What in the name of Merlin had possessed her to kiss him? Why had he kissed back? Was it just the spell? Or had he kissed her after the spell was off?

She closed her eyes and recalled the kiss. He had stopped so abruptly, and it had taken a few moments for her thoughts to become coherent. When she had opened her eyes, she had immediately noticed that he wasn't under the spell. Had he stopped when the spell broke? Was he disgusted? What must he think of her? She tried to imagine what he might have been thinking, and her stomach churned. She felt sick. What kind of person quite literally throws herself at a person who has no control over his actions?

And what was with Harry? As if the entire ordeal with Malfoy wasn't enough, Harry had been so different, so strange. He had been downright terrifying, and intimidating, and… almost _evil._

She felt as though the spinning sped up and she was the one who belonged in the permanent ward. Like a child stepping off a merry-go-round, dizziness conquered her.

But one thought prevailed over all of these, and she whispered, "I'm going to be sick."

She rushed toward the small toilet bound to the wall and doubled over, sweeping the hair out her face and holding it at the nape of her neck. A spasm gripped her stomach and she gagged as she was reintroduced to the extremely small meal she had eaten at the Burrow that morning. She gagged for a second time, but her stomach was already empty.

As she knelt there, hunched over a toilet in the permanent ward, something occurred to her.

She was a good person. She rarely used foul language, unless it was an extreme circumstance, like now. She didn't drink much, unless she was pissed off or it was her birthday. She didn't sleep around either, except for that one time when she had been incredibly pissed off, gotten pissed off her ass, and had subsequently ended up in bed with someone she barely knew.

She realized, as another dry heave ripped through her petite body, that the litany she had been chanting seemed familiar. So familiar that she was sure she had said it recently. That thought was plausible considering that her life as of late had been shittier than the normal, all-around shit to which she was accustomed.

Since she had received her letter from Hogwarts, she had opened her mind to strange possibilities. Thanks to her year spent with a Time-turner, she was a firm believer in alternate dimensions. She liked to think that somewhere out there was a Hermione Granger who had never heard of Voldemort, and another who was happily married to Ron Weasley, and still another who was delightfully wild and unpredictable. She would give anything to be one of the other Hermiones, rather than the one vomiting into a toilet in Draco Malfoy's ward.

Alas, life was indeed shit, and she wasn't another Hermione; she was the one with Draco Malfoy as a patient.

Gripping the toilet seat, she stared at her knuckles. She squeezed tighter, and she was sure that the color of her face rivaled the whiteness of her knuckles.

She was a firm believer that people could change their circumstances if only they tried. What was keeping her here in this room with Malfoy? What could stop her from walking out and never coming back?

Did she always have to be the one to help everyone else? Why couldn't she just think of herself for once? What would it hurt to turn and run? She knew that answer. It wouldn't hurt her, or her friends. It would hurt him, only him.

The "him" in question cleared his throat, and she turned to look at him. She didn't trust herself to speak, and she wanted to keep her mouth closed, conscious of that acidic taste coating her tongue. Even so, below that acidic flavor, she could still taste him, and she wasn't sure which made her more sick to her stomach.

"Honestly," he smirked, "it wasn't that bad."

She used the back of her hand to wipe her mouth. Swallowing deeply, hoping to rid her mouth of the foul residue, she spat, "Go to hell."

"We're already there, Granger. Or hadn't you noticed?" he snarled. Despite the fact that he was dirty and dressed in hospital-issue clothes, he was incredibly intimidating. She should have had the upper hand-- should have, but didn't.

This was the way he handled things. He was a master at turning situations and conversations to cover up the things about which he was uneasy.

Uneasy silence overtook them, and she ached with the need to do something, anything, to distract herself. She gazed longingly at the sink, wishing to Merlin that she had some Altoids. Sneaking a glance back at Malfoy, she noticed that he was unfocused, probably doing a bit of thinking himself.

She carefully retreated to the sink and turned the handle. The cool water was like heaven on her hands, hands that had been clutching at a toilet like a small child clinging to a stuffed toy.

She scrubbed, grating hand against hand, to wash it away… to wash everything away. Satisfied that her hands were clean, she filled her them with water and drank. In any other man's presence, she would be embarrassed to gargle and spit water again and again, but she was hardly worried about Malfoy hanging this over her head. If he wanted to bring out those guns, she would bring out the bazookas.

The water flowed against her tongue like silk against sandpaper. Again and again she swished it back at forth trying to wear down that feeling, eliminate that taste. Her teeth scraped together and it felt raw. Teeth, water, tongue, rough, cool. She wondered if the taste would go away, if any of it would go away, ever. If she worked hard enough, could she make it disappear, like it never happened? She wasn't talking about her mouth anymore, or vomit, or any of that, and she knew it.

She didn't want to think of the consequences of working here, being with him, kissing him. She didn't want to think about what kind of person it made her.

As if it wasn't bad enough feeling the ocean of guilt in her chest, she kept seeing pictures, horrifying pictures, of Harry, what Harry would look like if he knew. And Ron, and Mrs. Weasley, and Luna, and everyone… everyone who had lost a brother or sister or friend to the Malfoy family. She had successfully branded herself with the same title Malfoy had received.

_Traitor. _

Failure.

_Disgrace. _

Blood-traitor.

_Mistake. _

He hadn't a clue in hell why all of this was happening. He knew the reason he had started kissing Granger. He had started kissing her because he had wanted to stop kissing her. Irony's a bitch, eh?

He had known what he was doing, in the beginning. He also knew to an extent why he had kept kissing her. He was a man, after all. He was a man who had been on the run for three years and locked up for six or seven months. Let's just say his ego was in need of a little stroking.

He had watched Granger as she emptied her stomach into that wretched toilet. She was disgusting, and he didn't need vomit to tell him that. He hadn't changed his mind about her, not in the least. But he was willing to forget about it for a while, if it meant that she would get him out of here.

He may have been against the Dark Lord, but that certainly didn't make him an angel. He was a Slytherin through and through. Sure his situation was shit, but he knew how to take advantage and make it work for him. He had watched as Granger literally fell apart.

This… him… He was managing to throw her world off-balance and it had her spinning out of control, and he was damn proud of it.

He had watched in fascination as the horror had crossed her face, followed by confusion. She had swayed dizzily and her face had paled. y for it to be more of a third party observation. But it fit better to have it more from his perspective. Is it clearer now?

She was confused and fragile and he had every intention of exploiting it. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed her. He needed her to find out about this spell, reverse it, and get him out of this Godforsaken place. And if he could, he'd use her to clear his name in the wizarding world, too.

Imagine the headlines.

_Hermione Granger Heals Draco Malfoy_

_Draco Malfoy Released from St. Mungo's with the Help of Potter's Best Friend_

_Malfoy and Granger Team Up_

A sly grin spread across his face. Showing up with the Mudblood Queen on his arm would certainly help change people's opinions of him. If anyone could get him back in the world's good graces, it would be she.

He snapped out of his scheming and focused on the face that was still slightly pale and glaring back at him. Yes, this opportunity was too good to slip through his fingers. He was going to take hold of it, and he had no plans of letting it go.

"All right, Granger, quit gawking. I know what you're thinking. I've been in here for what, six months, and I still look like a god. Your staring is understandable." He gracefully stood and walked towards the toilet.

"You're a prick, do you know that?" she rasped. Her throat was obviously dry and scratchy from its previous activities.

"I do. You're just figuring that out?" he smirked, standing over her in a menacing way.

"I've been learning quite a lot about you lately, Malfoy." She tilted her chin upwards in defiance, determined to show him that he wouldn't and couldn't intimidate her.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her upwards unceremoniously until she was pressed tightly against him. He tried not to wince as her breath fanned over his face. He made a mental note to breathe through his mouth and not his nose; the last thing he wanted to do right now was smell her rancid puke.

"There are a few things you don't know about me," he leaned closer and finished, "and I'd be glad to teach you, if you like."

She broke out of his gasp, furious with his smooth and cunning advances, and livid that somewhere deep in her chest, she was affected by them.

"You're despicable. The very thought of you makes me want to puke, or was that not painfully obvious a few moments ago?"

She began to step backwards, but he grabbed her forearm harshly and pulled her forward until their bodies collided again. He wrapped a wild curl around his forefinger and tugged slightly.

Unabashedly, he pushed his pelvis against hers and growled, "That's not the only thing that's painfully obvious."

Her face, pale before, glowed red as the evidence of his desire pushed against her belly.

"You're crazy," she breathed, backing up in an attempt to escape.

Her back met the wall and he closed in on her like a predator stalking its prey. "Not right now, love."

She felt like her heart was about to leap out of her chest. His face was so incredibly close that she could see baby-fine hairs across his jaw and chin that she had never noticed before.

He watched her eyes grow unfocused as she studied his face. She had thought he was as close as he could get, but his wicked smirk deepened and he moved even closer. Her eyes fluttered shut and her long eyelashes rested gently against her cheek.

He saw his opening and decided to put his plan into action. His fingers lightly caressed the skin of her throat and he whispered onto her lips, "Help me."

Her eyelashes lifted and she gazed at him peculiarly. "What did you say?"

He stepped backwards, ending all contact between them.

"I asked you to help me, Granger."

She'd known that. She knew exactly what he said, but she had been giving him a way out, hoping, hoping so hard that he would take it. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. She gave him one more chance, one more opportunity to take it back, to take back those words.

"With what?"

He scoffed and took a seat on the twin bed in the corner. "Have you forgotten where we are, Granger?"

"Oh." He wasn't going to take it. He'd asked for help. And Merlin, did she want to refuse. She wanted to throw it all out the fucking door and never look back, but she couldn't. It wasn't just the words. It was all of it. His words, his voice, the situation, his father, everything, she couldn't turn him down. He'd gotten to her, under her skin. She was the brightest witch of her age, and with one touch from this bastard, everything had flown out the window. "Oh," she repeated.

Once again, she was assaulted with the desire to just run. If she left now, she wouldn't have to involve herself in this. She glanced longingly at the door and her foot twitched slightly. She willed herself to take a step. But before she could try, he spoke.

"You're the only one who can help me, Granger. Probably the only one who will."

Those words halted her thoughts. He knew exactly what to play upon, her obsession with helping those in need.

Putting the final nail in the coffin, he called to her, "I need you, Granger."

She wanted to growl and pounce upon him and force the words back into his mouth. Anything. She'd do anything at all that would allow her to just walk away. But those words had triggered exactly the response he wanted.

She leaned back on the wall behind her and slumped to the floor, "I'm listening."

If she looked up, she would have seen the closest thing to a smile that had ever crossed the face of Draco Malfoy.

"I told you it was a curse." He supplied.

"Dark magic?" She asked.

"Yes." he answered.

She questioned him as to whether he had recognized the curse or possibly knew its name. He answered no to both questions.

"You're sure, you didn't recognize anything? I'm assuming it was in Latin; were there any phrases you could translate?" she inquired.

"Well, Granger, I would have tried to translate some of it, but you see, I was a little preoccupied by the fact I was bleeding." He sneered from his seat on the bed.

"Whatever," she breathed. "You didn't say who cast the spell on you."

At this, his fists clenched and his jaw tightened. She watched in fascination as a vein pulsed dangerously at his temple.

Draco had known that he would have to divulge this information sooner or later, but he hated both his father and Granger. Having to tell Granger that his own father had put him here—he hated that most of all.

He snarled and closed his eyes, doing his best to hide all emotion from her.

"Lucius," he whispered quietly.

Her eyes widened, but she didn't speak.

He thought, then, that maybe she wasn't as stupid as he had thought. She nodded, trying to tell him to continue, and reluctantly he did.

"Well, you know that I ran after the incident in sixth year. Severus led me to the gates. He told me to return to the mansion and gather my things. He promised to hold off the Death Eaters while I got what I needed, but after that I was on my own."

His heart was beating quickly and he had no idea why he was sharing all this with her. It was not as though she needed to know any of this. But for some reason, he kept going.

"I had everything I needed and I was about to leave when I heard my mother playing the piano in the study. I told her everything and tried to convince her to leave with me, to run with me. She had been scared to go, but I'd almost had her convinced when Lucius emerged."

Hermione watched with wide eyes as he stopped and swallowed. His entire body was incredibly tense and she knew that he was seeing it all again. As she watched him, she was struck with the thought that he looked remarkably child-like. The sneers, the cool exterior, and the anger seemed to melt away, leaving a scared little boy who had been forced to grow up entirely too soon.

It was difficult to hear these words coming from his own mouth. Sure, they had been running through his head constantly for the past few years, but speaking them was entirely different. Speaking them made it real.

"He… he hit her, all because she had almost said yes. Before I knew what was happening, dozens of Death Eaters filled the room and I could feel my blood run cold as V-Voldemort entered."

It was becoming hard to breathe, and he tried to stop the words, but they were pouring out of his mouth faster than he could register that he'd even thought them.

"I had to…to watch as he killed her. And my bastard of a father let him. He offered her up to Voldemort like some sort of fucking sacrifice—a sacrifice for _my_ sins."

Anger burned when he realized there was wetness on his cheeks. He was becoming weak. He rubbed at his eyes furiously, trying to stop the flow, but it was useless.

He continued his tale and told her of how they had locked him in his room. They had planned a formal ceremony to be held the next morning, a ceremony for his death. It was a way of purging the Malfoy name of his indiscretion.

Severus had come to him that night, freeing him and telling him to run.

"I ran for about three years, and then I got caught."

He didn't tell her about Ross. He didn't tell her how he had befriended a Muggle. He didn't tell her that it was his fault he had gotten himself captured and that Ross had died. He had to pause here, as his thoughts went down this familiar path.

There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't regret letting down his guard while he was with Ross. It was all his fault, and he knew it.

He moved on, refusing to dwell on the pain.

"I woke up in a dungeon with my father. He told me that it wasn't too late. The Dark Lord was impressed that I had lasted as long as I had and had managed to fight off most of the attacks he sent my way. Lucius said _if_ I proved my loyalty, the Dark Lord might give me a second chance. But I had been in a deal with Voldemort before, and that hadn't exactly ended well. So, I refused and he tortured me. He tortured me to the point that I couldn't tell whether I was conscious or dreaming or insane. I vaguely registered him touching his wand to my chest and muttering some long and complicated spell, before I heard laughing."

He gulped then, and added, "Foul, grotesque laughter, my laughter. I was laughing…like a maniac."

Her mind was spinning faster by the moment as she registered the new information. His own father had put him here, his father who had now escaped from Azkaban.

The dizzy feeling from earlier returned and she could feel the blood roaring in her ears. Everything was becoming overwhelming and she just couldn't handle it right now. She wanted to run. She wanted to run and hide and forget about everything she heard.

He felt remarkably relieved. He had never wanted to tell these secrets to anyone, much less Granger. But it did wonderful things for the pressure in his chest. He sighed as the relief washed over him.

He was broken from his contentment as Granger got to her feet, the skirt of her little sundress catching his eye.

She grabbed her head as though it hurt, and it did. It hurt with all the thoughts running through it.

"What are you doing, Granger?"

Her eyes snapped to meet his and there was remorse painted across them.

"I can't do this. I have to think," she replied and she jogged to the door.

"Stop it, Granger! Don't run away." Her hand was already on the door knob and turning.

"Damn it, Granger! What happened to your compassion?" he screamed, but the sound was cut off as she slammed the soundproof door back into place.

He yelled as she peered back at him through the glass. He grabbed the mattress off the top of the bed and pulled. He kicked at the wall and ran to the door.

He slammed his hands against it, screaming, his eyes never leaving hers. He watched as a small tear swelled in the corner of her eye.

He screamed at her then, yelling, "Fuck you!" at the top of his lungs. She blinked and the small drop of water fell from her eye then, tracing its way down her cheek and disappearing past his view. With one last glance, she fled.

He let his anger take him over then as he began to tear apart his room, seeking to destroy everything in sight.

This was normal behavior for him, locked in this room, but this time it had nothing to do with the spell and everything to do with Hermione Granger.

His hatred for her only grew. If there had ever been one thing about Granger that he had respected, it had been her strength. No matter what he had thrown at her at Hogwarts, she had always been right there fighting back.

In their verbal sparring, she had always been right there going toe to toe with him. Now, she was no better than the rest of them. She was weak.

_You're weak! You're a disgrace!_

His ragged screams of "NO!" became louder and louder.

_It's your fault that your mother died. _

His control began to shut down as the voice of his father filled his head.

_You got her killed. You failed and then you let her die in your place. _

He lost control of his body then and watched as he slammed his head into the porcelain of the toilet. The pain overcame him then, and blood trickled down his head and into his eyes. They burned and he squeezed them shut.

_You were always a disappointment, to me and to her. You ruined her life. _

He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling of his ward room. The edges of his vision were blurred black, and his head felt like it was spinning.

_Faster._

_Faster._

_Faster._

The spinning stopped, and everything went black.

A/N: Well, there's chapter 13! Thanks to my wonderful beta, Renee. Voting begins soon over at the He Had It Coming Draco/Hermione Fan fiction awards! Both Moments of Sanity and my one-shot Living are nominated! I encourage you all to head over there, read, pick your favorite stories, and vote!


	14. Full Circle

Disclaimer: Am I J.K. Rowling? If I were, I would have called the seventh book, _Draco Malfoy and his Mudblood Lover. _Does that answer your question?

**Full Circle**

Nothing stops. Nothing ever _truly_ stops.

The wind will always blow. The seasons will always change. Gravity will always pull.

The world will never stop. It spins, because nothing stops. It can't.

So spin it must.

And all that spins eventually comes right back to the start.

Everything, everyone is brought full circle.

Always back to the beginning.

Back to the same place.

The same place that is so incredibly _different_.

He is there now. He finds it funny that he is here again, the same place where it all started, but oh so much has changed.

He's not the one sitting on the hard ground in a Muggle park looking like his life is unsalvageable. He's not the one being plotted against. He's not the one being watched.

He's doing the watching.

He wonders if Potter knows, knows that they are back to the beginning, knows that their positions have switched.

Nothing, he decided. He had known nothing of what was to come all those days ago, so neither must Potter.

He thinks of ending it here, now. Ending the circle the way Potter had tried to do to him. He could do it so easily. The one they call "chosen" sits there with his stupid bird, unknowing, writing letter after letter to someone who won't matter in the end. He _could_ end it so easily.

But no, he won't. It's his turn now.

His turn to pursue.

His turn to ruin the boy's life, as the boy had ruined his so long ago. He has a gift for ruining things; it comes with being a Death Eater, with being a Malfoy, with being Lucius.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

She wasn't sorry. She wasn't.

She had done what needed to be done. For once in her goddamned life, she had thought of herself. Surely she was allowed that. Surely she could make one purely self-seeking decision just one time, only one.

It was really the only reasonable thing to do. How could she possibly allow herself to help that man? He was evil and cruel and… and…

She was seeking for another word, but the only thing that flashed through her mind was "human." He was human. He made mistakes, like everyone else.

He hadn't exactly been rude to her in their time together. She paled and refused to apply any adjective to his recent behavior except "confusing." Yes, he was confusing.

She wanted to believe that he hated her, because that made it easier. And a part of her did. The part of her that was the same girl from Hogwarts could see in him that same boy from their youth. A piece of him hadn't changed. But had she any right to judge him? After all, she hadn't changed either, not completely anyway.

His face, as she had left him there, haunted her. He was screaming, but there was so much more than anger in his expression. It pained her to identify fear and hurt and sadness in the face that seemed to be burned into her retinas. Surprisingly enough, she couldn't find hate in his eyes. She wished she could have, but as far as she could tell, there was none.

She had left St. Mungo's and walked the streets without any inclination towards a destination. He didn't hate her. That thought cut her, sliced at her until she felt raw and needy and guilty with the pain of it all. He had found it in himself to rise above his hatred in order to trust her, and she had run away.

Some Gryffindor she turned out to be. But she couldn't go back. She _couldn't_.

He deserved to be left there. Now she just had to convince herself of that.

She stopped suddenly and took in the area surrounding her. She didn't recognize the neighborhood in the slightest. Glancing at the nearest street sign, she realized that she had passed her flat quite a while ago.

Her frustration mounting, she turned and walked back in the direction from which she had just come. She could, of course, just Apparate, but she needed the walk.

Even with the crisp breeze whipping at her face, she felt like she was suffocating. She just couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. She _wasn't_ sorry. She refused to be sorry.

_He deserved it. He did. He's just an egotistical bastard._

But then why was she crying? Why did it feel as if a hand of steel were squeezing her lungs, preventing her from getting air? Why was her blood rushing so loudly in her ears that she couldn't even hear herself think?

Her hands were clasped and squeezing so tightly that her fingernails had begun to draw blood. But she didn't stop, she didn't even notice.

She didn't want to be sorry, but she was. She felt as if she were barely moving, the guilt weighing heavily upon her like an anchor keeping her motionless amidst the tossing waves of the ocean.

She felt incredibly alone. No one, not even Harry and Ron, knew what was going on with Draco. She had no one to talk to about it. She winced as she realized that Malfoy was just as alone as she. He had told her that she was all he had. At the time, she wasn't sure she believed him, but now she found that she felt much the same way as he.

She supposed she could tell Harry and Ron, but she shuddered at what their reactions might be.

A vision of Harry surrounded by flames that crackled with furious power passed through her mind. No, she wouldn't tell Harry. Regardless of her own confused feelings, she certainly didn't want Draco to suffer Harry's wrath, not when Draco hadn't done anything wrong.

She stopped and had to use her arm to brace herself against a nearby building as the dizziness swept over her.

_Hadn't done anything wrong?_

Did she really consider him free of blame? He had let Death Eaters into the school, had almost killed Dumbledore.

_But he hadn't. _

No, he hadn't. And the only reason he had done any of that in the first place had been for his mother. She recalled the entry in his journal where he had mentioned his mother and the piano. They had sung a song about leaving all the darkness behind and flying far away.

Another sharp intake of breath, and the tears started fresh. He was just a boy, a boy who had had to choose between the death of his mother and the death of his Headmaster. She realized with a pang that though he had tried, he hadn't managed to save either one.

So maybe she couldn't hold him responsible for Dumbledore's death. And she wanted to blame him just for being a Death Eater, but she knew very well that his forearm was not marked with a skull, but with scars.

He'd even had a chance to save his life when he'd been captured, by pledging and proving his allegiance. Voldemort had offered him a fucking second chance, and he had said no. It seemed completely out of character for Voldemort to even make such an offer, but apparently he had wanted Draco on his side very badly. But again, Draco had gone against what had been expected of him. A voice niggling in her head asked how many times he would have to prove himself before she would admit that she saw some good in him.

Really, all she could hold against him were the years he'd spent tormenting her at Hogwarts, but did that really even matter to her anymore? Searching her mind she recalled her first sight of him in the Permanent Ward and how all malice had fled her then. She tried, but couldn't manage to muster up any bitterness.

It was in that moment, as she ascended the stairs to the front door of her apartment building, that two words came to be associated in her mind, two words that she never would have dreamed of fitting together.

_Draco. _

_Innocence. _

Even though she hadn't really admitted it, and didn't plan to do so, she knew she would be going back. She couldn't allow that face, his face, to be painted across the darkness every time she closed her eyes.

Entering her flat, she immediately noticed three letters strewn across the floor just a few feet away from the door. She grabbed the nearest one and opened it.

_Hermione,_

_I haven't heard from you in a few days. Just want to see how you are doing and if we could get together sometime. _

_Love,_

_Harry_

She didn't allow herself to smile. As much as she loved Harry, she couldn't get that image of him out of her head. She remembered being scared of hell when she was a child, utterly terrified of fire and pointy little red devils. She had felt that same fear that night, only it had been so much more real. She shook her head violently, realizing that she'd just compared Harry to Satan. Harry might be many things—angry, yes, out of control, probably—but he was certainly not the Devil. That was utterly ridiculous and she laughed, if only slightly. She grabbed another letter.

_Hermione, _

_You promised that you would make it up to me. Why are you ignoring me? Whatever I've done, I'm sorry, and I'll fix it. I promise. _

_Harry_

Hermione's hand shook with frustration as she read the letter. Just who did he think he was? It had been less than a day since she had set foot in her flat and he had the nerve to question her because she hadn't responded. She had just got home for fuck's sake. With dread she grabbed the third letter and noticed that he hadn't even signed it with his or her name.

_I can't believe you, Hermione. Are you just going to throw away our friendship? Is that all I mean to you? I thought, Jesus Christ, I don't know what I thought. I thought I knew you. Why aren't you answering my letters? I don't mean to be angry, I don't. Just come see me as soon as you get it, and everything will be okay. Don't make me come find you. _

Hermione involuntarily squeezed her hand and the paper crumpled in her fist. What in the bloody hell was going on with that boy? She understood perfectly well that he was frustrated and angry and all the matters with Lucius didn't help. She wanted to write back and give him a good firm lashing. She wasn't his to order around. She wasn't his to do anything with.

She decided that he was just going to have to learn to be patient. And for him to question their friendship? It made her sick to her stomach. She grabbed the last letter and smoothed out the wrinkles. Grabbing the nearest quill, she scrawled her reply across the bottom.

_Don't order me around, Harry James Potter. I'll come see you when I want to or when you stop being such a git, whichever comes first. _

She summoned her small, gray owl and attached the letter to her leg.

"Take this to Harry, Cordelia," she whispered, stroking the owl softly, "and don't wait for a reply."

Not waiting to watch the small bird depart, she turned and began scanning the apartment. Her tote bag was sitting untouched on the sofa. She reached in and grasped one of the books she had taken from the Malfoy family library.

"_Malfoy Family Punishment Curses,"_ she said aloud. "Are you in here? The answers I need? "

She certainly didn't expect an answer, but it would have made things much easier if the ominous-looking book had jumped open and said, "Right here on this page!"

She laughed aloud and counted quickly how many hours it had been since she had slept.

Twenty-two. Twenty-two long, frustrating, and certainly enlightening hours. She thought that life up until now had been like one face of a coin, and she felt as though her coin had been flipped and she was now on the reverse side where everything seemed to be exactly the opposite of before. She had seen something different in two people and it certainly hadn't turned out as she had expected.

Sighing she opened the book and scanned the table of contents. She whispered aloud to herself as her eyes swept down the page.

"Death, torture, mutilation, fuck, I'd hate to be a part of this family." Her hands gripped the book tightly. She was struck with a horrifying vision of an 8 year old Draco being tortured for, for sneaking a biscuit before dinner or whatever kids did. Whatever happened to being grounded?

"Torture of the Mind, pg. 89." She gasped. Could it really be that simple? Her fingers couldn't turn the pages fast enough. She read the introduction to the chapter and felt her heart grow heavy in her chest.

_The curses and enchantments in this chapter are considered to be the most severe and devastating of all punishments used by the Malfoy family. In the 400 years spanning the period from the migration of the Malfoys to England until 1970, in only three instances was this kind of punishment deemed necessary. Because these spells work within the mind of the sufferer, it is hard to pinpoint the exact effects of the spell. The curse is designed to target and attack those elements that are weakest in its host, so the curse adapts and changes itself according to the situation. _

_The first spell is the only one that has been used according to family records, and is probably the most potent. Again, not much is known about its effects other than the spell's aim to mimic insanity until insanity becomes the reality. There is some debate about the incantation, because it has changed over the years, but the most recent occurrence used the following spell: _

_Ego capio tu, memoriam, sententiam, mensa mentisa, nuilus diutus ham tu ut imperium. Mutatio tu, quasso tu, potior tu. Magicae vorom tu, vinco vici vitetum tu. Tu fio praedam, esca dum morsa mortista o insaniaro. _

Hermione scanned further, hoping for a translation but found none. Disappointed, she tried to dissect the phrases herself. She was fairly adept in her knowledge of Latin, and this spell, as with most, was based in it.

"Ego capio" she mused aloud, "means 'I take.' And tu means you. So, 'I take you.' "

With a nod she prepared to move on, but was interrupted by the scraping of an owl at her window. Growling with frustration, she assumed that Harry had replied to her letter. Determined to ignore it, she moved on to the next word.

" 'Memoriam' comes from the Latin memoria for memory."

The scratching continued and she felt slightly guilty for leaving Hedwig out in the cold. There was no pacifying Harry when he was like this. She might as well just go to see him for a few minutes and be done with it. She grabbed a spare bit of parchment, copied down the words to the spell, and tucked it inside her robes.

She quickly crossed to the window and with a heave, pulled it open. She was surprised to find that it wasn't Hedwig waiting outside her window, nor was it her owl Cordelia, but a plain brown owl that she didn't recognize. Reaching for the owl's leg, she realized that the letter was sealed with St. Mungo's emblem.

She rushed furiously to remove the letter, and she nearly ripped it in half with her haste to open it.

_Healer Granger, _

_We are aware that your next shift does not start for twelve hours, but have information regarding your patient. _

_Now, there is nothing to be concerned about, but earlier in the evening your patient was found unconscious in his room suffering from a head injury. In one of his fits, it appears that he struck his head against the toilet located in his room. _

_He is stable, but remains unconscious. I ask you not to worry, Miss Granger, because this type of behavior is typical in your patient's case. _

_This letter should also serve as a reminder that your paperwork assessing your patient's condition is due in one week. _

_Thank you for your hard work, and I'm looking forward to meeting with you in a few weeks for your monthly review. _

_Sincerely,_

_Anna Holden_

_Supervisor_

_St. Mungo's Permanent Ward_

Hermione felt dizzy and she quickly scanned the letter again. Draco hit his head? And was unconscious? Earlier this evening? It had to have been not long after she'd left, as she'd only left about an hour ago.

This was all her fault. If she had been there, if she hadn't run away, it wouldn't have happened.

He had been so angry when she'd left, and part of her wondered if it hadn't been one of his fits. What if he'd done it because of her, because she refused to help? She felt sick.

She was sorry. She really, really was. She had to go there, she had to see him. She couldn't see through the tears that filled her eyes.

It hurt. And she needed to see him. It all hurt so very much. She left the letter lying on the table, grabbed her purse, and dashed towards the door.

Her hand was on the knob when she noticed the bottomless black bag that she'd found at Malfoy Manor lying invitingly on her small coffee table.

Without a second thought, she tucked the bag into one of the inner pockets of her robe and rushed from her apartment.

It was raining when she stepped outside, but she didn't notice; not even as the water clung to her curls or coated her cheeks.

CRACK!

And she was gone, reappearing only moments later in the foyer of St. Mungo's. She reached Draco's ward in record time. When she stopped outside the door, her breathing was uncontrolled, her hair even more so.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione turned around quickly, flattening her back against the door to Draco's room.

"Ms. Holden?"

"Call me Anna."

"Only if you'll call me Hermione."

Anna smiled, "Fair enough. What are you doing here? You don't start your shift for quite a while."

Hermione laughed and struggled to calm her breathing.

"I know. I got your letter. I know you said not to worry, but I just wanted to stop in and make sure he was okay. "

"I see." Anna nodded, but didn't continue.

Hermione waited for a moment, then nodded, and turned to open the door.

"You've done a wonderful job with him."

"Excuse me?" Hermione replied.

"Draco. Since you began working here, he's had far fewer accidents. Other Healers have said he is far less violent than he used to be."

"Other Healers?" Hermione asked, "I wasn't aware that there were any other Healers on his case."

"There are a few Healers assigned to the ward during the day, and they monitor all the patients between them. They don't get much interaction with him, but enough to notice a difference."

"He does seem to understand more now than when I first arrived. I haven't had much trouble with him at all."

Hermione felt uncomfortable talking about Draco's improvement, because she knew all too well the reason for his improvement.

"Your letter said he was unconscious." Hermione continued.

"Yes. He's really fine now. He had a concussion and a small skull fracture, but the healers took care of everything. When he wakes, he should be fine except for a rather intense headache. We could have woken him, but as he doesn't get much sleep, we decided to let him rest."

"Oh. Well, that's good. It was nice speaking with you, Anna. I'm just going to check on him for a bit."

"Of course, Hermione."

Hermione turned around again and turned the knob. She was halfway inside before Anna spoke again.

"He could use a bath, since he's unconscious. He hasn't had a real bath in quite a while."

Hermione's hand tightened on the door knob, "A bath?"

"A sponge bath, yes. You don't have to do it now or anything, just sometime tonight on your shift."

Hermione paled and nodded. "Yes, of course."

If Hermione hadn't been concentrating so hard, she might have stopped breathing. The door closed behind her with a click and she let out a shaky breath.

Draco was lying on the small bed in the corner, looking entirely too large for the bed, too large for all of it, everything. This whole situation was too big, too immense for her to grasp, and she felt as though she was grappling at the periphery, never quite seizing the whole.

She didn't remember moving towards him, but suddenly she found herself kneeling on the hard floor beside his bed.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

Her hand found her way to his chest and she felt the steady beat of his heart against her palm.

The gentle but constant thudding urged her on.

"I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry for everything."

He was so pale and so still that she might have thought him dead, if she hadn't been able to feel the heat from his chest on her hand. He was warm, not cold as she had always imagined him.

"I don't hate you. I actually think you're innocent." She laughed, "Did you ever think you'd hear that from me? I, Hermione Granger, think that you, Draco Malfoy, are innocent. And I'll help you. I'll do anything I can to help you."

She laid her head next to him on the bed, but didn't move her hand. It was reassuring, feeling his blood course beneath her fingers. His pure blood.

His head felt as though someone was actively trying to rip it in two. He vaguely heard someone speaking over the ringing that dominated his ears.

He felt something smooth and delicate brushing against his side, and he moved his hand towards it, touching it ever so lightly.

The tips of his fingers ran across her hair and he found it to be wiry, yet smooth all at the same time.

"Granger?"

Her head popped up, but his hand remained threaded through her locks.

He opened his eyes to see her peering up at him, but closed them quickly. It was so bright and it hurt his eyes, his head, all of him. He moved slightly and sucked in a sharp breath as pain echoed through his head.

"I thought you left."

He released the hair that was wrapped around his hand, and pushed his elbows into his mattress, forcing himself to sit up, and groaning at the pain.

Hermione panicked. In a moment, she was off the floor and sitting on his bed directly behind him.

"No, Draco, lie down. You need to sleep."

He faltered slightly under the pain, but didn't lie back.

"I'm fine."

Resting her hands gently on his shoulders, she pleaded, "Please Draco, I don't care if you run around this room claiming that you're Merlin himself, as long as you do it later."

He laughed and immediately regretted it. He held his head as his body sank back against her, his head nestling into her stomach.

"Funny, Granger."

"I try."

His hand dropped from his head to lie softly across her knee. She ignored the heat that radiated there, and moved flaxen hair out of his eyes.

"You know, I can trace my lineage all the way back to Merlin," he said quietly.

"Sure you can."

He opened his eyes, squinting against the light, "I can, Granger."

She ran a hand across his forehead and shushed him softly.

"You can trace your lineage back to Merlin. I believe you, Draco. And you know, I'm related to Queen Elizabeth I. " She smiled.

Draco yawned and muttered quietly, "Congratulations."

Hermione leaned her head back against the wall. Sighing, she could see his head rising and falling gently against her middle.

This wasn't the first time she'd been in this room cradling Draco Malfoy like a beloved child. She'd done it during his first days here, and this situation was strikingly similar, yet so different.

Things were right back where they started, and she was still just as lost as before. Her body was seared everywhere they touched.

She brushed her hand across his forehead gently, and realized that she didn't hate him. And she wasn't just doing this out of pity anymore, or a sense of duty. She wasn't quite ready to question her motives yet, so instead she closed her eyes and settled back against the wall.

"You're innocent, Draco Malfoy."

And she meant it.

**Voting has started at the He Had It Coming Awards! This story and my one-shot Living are nominated there. if you find them worthy, please go vote! The link can be found on my profile. **

**Next chapter: Draco + Hermione + Sponge bath happiness!**

**Oh! And an update for We Happy Few should be coming soon!**


	15. Connected

A/N: Sorry it's been so long everyone, forgive me? What if I throw in a Hermione/Draco sponge bath scene? Yeah… I thought that would do the trick.

Disclaimer: If a sponge bath scene between Hermione and Draco appears in _Deathly Hallows_, I own it. If not, well then, I don't. I, also, don't own any of Maslow's ideas on self-actualization or peak experiences.

**_Connected_**

_"We can have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible." - __Oscar Wilde_

She'd never thought much of harmony, in part because it wasn't one of her strengths. She couldn't carry a decent tune for the life of her. You might say that the trio had harmonized once upon a time, but those moments were few and far between. There had always tended to be a dominant person, the melody per se, and it was most frequently she. She didn't do well with taking direction. She didn't fit into the molds, and if life were a great coloring sheet, she would probably get an F for coloring outside the lines. But lines were restricting, and she made it a habit to break them. Or more accurately, for creating new boundaries, ones she found more appropriate, respectable, and justifiable. Wizarding society was filled with lines—lines of blood, of loyalty, of light, of dark. But lines are straight and unforgiving, whereas curves allow for exploration and learning and change.

Change.

Again, she had never thought much of harmony—well, before anyway. Now, it was the only word she could use to describe the buoyant feeling radiating throughout her limbs. Harmony with what, though, she wasn't sure.

Herself? Nature? God? Something? _Someone?_

She wasn't actually sure, but she could feel it. It was elusive and indescribable, but now that she'd felt it, it was as recognizable as her own heartbeat or the freckles on the back of her hand. You could call it a realization of sorts, but she called it heavenly. It was an innate sense of security and unity that felt like a return to a childhood home long after the blithe years of youth. She laughed then. It _was_ like coming home. Only it was a place she'd never been.

She recalled a Muggle psychologist named Maslow, who described sensations similar to what she was feeling now. He called them "peak experiences." And she agreed with the term wholeheartedly. She was at the highest point she'd ever been. But she should've known that the trouble with peaks is that they are always followed by a valley. But in that moment, she wasn't looking down or worrying about what would follow. This was simply about now and now and now.

She was living simply in the moment. She prided herself on being driven by reason, yet still being spontaneous and creative. She felt the innate need to analyze problems and solve them. She felt a strong sense of morality, devoid of prejudice. She was continually striving to be greater, to be at one with the world around her. And now, finally, in this moment, she felt connected. Those qualities were basically the dictionary definition of what that Muggle psychologist called being self-actualized.

Self-actualized people were also accepting of reality. And she may not have known it at the time, but the minute she had come back here, back to him, she had accepted the realities of her situation. Now the repercussions were rippling through her, leaving a surprising pleasantness in their wake.

A surprising _connectivity. _

She was completely and undeniably connected. And it wasn't just about the convergence of his back with her chest, or the feel of her chin resting gently on his shoulder. It wasn't only a penetrating awareness of the unity between herself and something too altogether large to comprehend. It wasn't simply the contentment coursing through her veins, or that tangible confidence that brightened even her dark situation. It wasn't just any one of those things. It was all of them. It was about familiarity with herself, other people, the world. It was about being a part of the bigger picture, a piece of the puzzle. No one can know or see the rest of the puzzle, but you can feel it and know it's there. Hermione could feel it, and just knowing that she was a vital part of something so much bigger than herself was invigorating.

She tried to think of another word to describe the state she was currently in, but she always came back to that word.

_Connected. _

So what did this mean for her? Was there a significance in that she was having this peak experience, not in the presence of Harry or Ron or another close friend, but while wrapped in an embrace with the infamous Draco Malfoy?

For once in her life, she avoided trying to find some reasoning behind it. Because although she was feeling that odd awareness of everything around her, _this _wasn't something she wanted to understand. Because understanding _their _connection was bizarre and world-shattering and downright terrifying. So for this once, she would cloak herself in naivete and allow her questions to remain unanswered. But she wasn't stupid; she knew that a moment like this was rare and beautiful, something to cling to and cherish. There might never be another moment in her life like this, but she could hold on to this one and relive it as often as she dared.

Malfoy shifted onto his side in her embrace, wrapped his arms around her middle, and rested his head against the sternum that separated her wildly beating heart from the smooth skin of his cheek. Before, he had been casually leaning against her, with one of her legs on each side of him. Now, she felt as though they were wrapped around each other in an intimate arrangement, and she found herself circling her arms around his resting form. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent, the feel, the warmth, all of it. She could feel the beat of his heart, beating not in time with, but opposite her own, creating an original and vibrant melody.

She held him without regard to pretenses or his status as her patient. She rested her head atop his despite her pride and their past. And another piece of understanding overwhelmed her. What mattered in this situation (and life in general) was not everything that was and could go wrong, but everything that was right despite the wrong. So, she ignored the wrong and concentrated on the right.

And in her arms, he felt so very _right. _

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

"Ron? You around mate?"

"Kitchen!" came the answer.

Harry entered the kitchen at the Burrow, the closest to smiling he'd been in days.

"I should have known to check all the places with food first."

"You should." Ron replied. "You're a little off your game."

Harry tensed then. Because he was. Everything was off, in fact. Everything was so incredibly _wrong. _Work, Hermione, Lucius, _himself. _

Ron, realizing the awkwardness of the situation, did the only thing he could think of to do.

"Pumpkin pasty?"

Harry tried to smile, but it appeared more like a grimace. "No thanks, mate."

"I'm glad you're here, Harry. I've got some important news."

Harry's head shot up, his eyes wide, "Is it about Hermione?"

Ron faltered for the moment, shooting Harry an odd glance before replying slowly, "Uh, no. This is about me. Well, Luna and me."

Harry's face fell slightly, but he motioned for Ron to continue.

"I'm having a kid." Ron beamed proudly.

Harry did smile then, and for a moment it was as if the last few weeks hadn't happened. He moved forward and clapped a friendly hand on Ron's shoulder.

"I hate to break it to you, mate, but your hips are not nearly wide enough to pop out a baby."

Ron laughed and pulled Harry into a hug.. Without letting go, Ron stumbled for the words.

"I'm going to risk sounding like a complete poof for a moment, but you'll have to forgive me." He pulled back, his hands still firmly on Harry's shoulders. "I love you like a brother, Harry, and I owe you more than I can ever say. There was a time when I'd given up on ever having a family of my own. And it's only thanks to you that I'm getting this chance now. And I—uh—oh" He struggled with what to say next, but Harry took that step for him, "I understand."

They stood motionless, emotions that couldn't be expressed with words passing between them. Their grip on each other was fierce, almost as though they were trying to freeze time in this very moment. Because, fuck, life can suck so badly, but that doesn't matter in moments like this.

"Congratulations." Harry whispered, not trusting himself to say anything more.

He felt a twinge of jealousy at how Ron's life was unfolding so nicely, when his own was in ruins. But more powerful than the jealousy was the gratifying realization that he had made this possible. As much as he didn't like to think about the war, it felt good to know that there was at least one more happy family because of him. And he was damned glad that it got to be Ron.

Harry covered his mouth and gave a strange cough that sounded oddly like "Love you too, mate."

Silence settled between the two of them, and while Ron's grin remained, the weight of the world came crashing back down onto Harry, and his somber mood settled over him again. Because a moment is what it is, just a moment. And a moment passes.

"Why was it that you came again?" Ron asked.

"Oh, well, I actually came to see if you'd spoken to Hermione at all."

"No, no, I haven't," Ron replied. "Something wrong?"

"Everything." Harry collapsed into a seat at the table.

"Did you ever get a chance to talk to Hermione after that… um… date?"

"Not really. She sent me an Owl, but I haven't seen her since. I think I might have gone a little overboard in pursuing her."

"Bollocks. She knows you mean well, Harry." Ron did his best to provide comfort.

"I don't know, mate. I just… things are so messed up. And sometimes I feel like I'm fucking insane, you know? I just…damn, I want a normal life. But the more I try to make my life normal, the more screwed up it becomes."

"Don't worry. Things will get better; they have to. When a person puts good out into the world—and you've done so much good, Harry—it will eventually find its way back to him."

Harry allowed the words to wash over him before saying, "Have you been reading fortune cookies again?"

"Was it that obvious?" Ron laughed. "There's this great new Chinese place in Diagon Alley."

"I figured as much," Harry replied. "Well, I should be going. I still have a lot to do at work."

Ron nodded.

"But if you see Hermione, tell her…tell her that I'm sorry and I'd love to see her."

Ron smiled, "Will do, mate." Ron considered giving Harry another hug, because he looked like he needed it. But his masculine side took over, and he only clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Congratulations again, Ron. I'm so happy for you."

Then the Boy Who Lived disappeared from the room, leaving his oldest friend wracked with worry.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

Draco felt warm. So incredibly warm. And it was the kind of warm that makes you want never to move, like snuggling beneath a cozy blanket in front of a fire on a cold winter night. Like soaking in a steaming bath, after a long day's work. Like being wrapped in the arms of someone you love or would like to.

Draco hadn't had many moments like this. And the ones he'd had were more of the wrapped-in-a-warm-blanket variety, not so much the arms-of-another-person sort. He liked to compare these moments to sunlight. They couldn't be held or contained or captured, but rather, they came to you when they chose. Moments like this kept one going, even through the dead of winter or a bleak and dreary night. Hope of sunshine drove one forward. Sunshine was a rare and cherished thing for him, just like this moment.

He could just barely feel the curve of another body behind his and he knew without a doubt whose it was. He had hoped she would return. He hadn't known what he'd do if she hadn't come back. All scheming and selfish plotting aside, he realized that he needed her. And something buried layers beneath the surface whispered that he needed her for more than escaping St. Mungo's. But that whisper was all too easily overpowered. Regardless, somewhere deep down, he had known that she wouldn't leave him. Because she was a good person, unlike him, and good people didn't leave defenseless people to fight their battles alone, regardless of how big a prick that defenseless person might be.

He was barely conscious, but his thoughts were wildly active. So he became immediately aware when those thoughts were impeded by something.

_The spell. _

New thoughts started running through his mind, thoughts that weren't his own.

_I'm disappointed in you, Draco. Are you listening to me? Look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me why I wasted my life on you. Tell me why I killed my own mentor for a worthless sack of shit like you. Gods, you're pathetic. Albus died so that what? So you could run like the coward you are? You make me _sick!

Draco tried to argue, but his mind felt so clouded, so heavy. He wanted to say that he was sorry. And that he'd tried to be everything for Severus. But the words wouldn't come. The spell was certainly weaker than it used to be, but in his fragile state, it dominated him still.

_Have you missed me, Draco? It's me, Pansy. Not Parkinson anymore, I'm afraid. It's Zabini now. I know it isn't what I always planned, but at least he was there, unlike you. I blame you, you know. I blame you for leaving. I blame you for our side losing the war. If you had been here, maybe Crabbe wouldn't have died. Or Millicent. Or your mother. You left us, Draco. You failed us all. _

Draco wanted to sob, then. To do anything to relieve the ache in his chest. But it wasn't up to him. His body remained still, with a slight beading of sweat across his brow being the only inclination of the war raging inside him.

A glistening of light refracted off the moisture on his forehead and caught Hermione's attention. She used the sleeve of her robe to wipe away the moisture. She lowered her head and blew a cool stream of air in an attempt to cool him off.

_You're despicable, Malfoy. _

He knew Hermione's voice as soon as he heard it, but the malice in her voice was something he hadn't heard in days. And it hurt. It hurt him worse than it should have.

_You called me filthy? Look at you. You're a poor excuse for a wizard, not even worthy to clean the shoes of a Squib. What have you contributed to the world? Nothing! In fact, people have already forgotten your name. You're no one. You don't mean anything. Not to your father. Not to your friends. Not to your enemies. And certainly not to me. You're not even worth saving. _

Hermione noticed that he was biting his lip. As gently as she could, she pulled his lip from between his teeth, soothing the swollen redness with the gentle caress of her thumb. She was struck with the intimacy of such a gesture, but she continued on and didn't stop until the redness was gone.

The words—her words—and her hate-filled voice burned a painful path to his heart, a heart that he'd almost begun to believe no longer existed. It shouldn't have mattered. She was an old enemy after all. But it did matter and it _did _hurt, because he agreed. For all the years he'd looked down on her and despised her, he'd truly believed that he wasn't worth her time. So he gave in. He gave in to the voices and just let them speak. He just let them parade his mistakes and his inadequacies. For the first time in a while, he shut himself off, allowing the voices free reign, because all of a sudden it was entirely too hard to fight it. He retreated back into his mind. He could handle hearing Potter or Severus or even Pansy. But not her.

The intense look of determination left his face. He looked so lifeless that Hermione checked for a pulse to make sure he was still okay. She was relieved to find the steady, reassuring pound of his pulse beneath her fingers. Her wristwatch beeped, signifying that another hour had come and gone. And she had done nothing in the passing hours but hold him. Blushing, she remembered her supervisor's suggestion that she bathe him. She decided that now was a better time than any. If she was going to have to deal with a naked Malfoy, it was better to have him unconscious. At least then he wouldn't be able to see the blush painted across her cheeks.

Resigned to her fate, she stealthily slipped out of their embrace and quickly conjured a tub filled with warm water. With another swish of her wand, a bucket appeared containing a sponge, soap, and some other toiletries. She finished situating the bathing area, trying to stifle her out-of-control nerves. Finally, when there was nothing else left to do and no other possible way to stall, she turned to look at Malfoy.

She turned her eyes upward and sighed, "Merlin, what did I ever do to you?"

Almost as if Merlin were sending her a reply, a small spasm rocked Draco's body, and she rushed to soothe him. A simple press of her hand to his shoulder calmed him.

She could have questioned his trust of her, whether he was unconscious or under the spell or just normal. She could have, but she didn't. Instead she took a steadying breath and reached for his shirt. Gently, as though undressing a baby, she pulled the shirt up until it rested high on his chest. Next, she went to move his arm above his head, but not before taking a brief detour to run her hands up his sides. Just to… check that he didn't have any bumps or bruises.

With his arms now stretched above his head, she pushed the shirt farther up, feeling it stretch slightly over the swell of his chest and shoulders. She paused, the shirt covering his head and his arms, leaving his torso completely bare. With his striking hair and edgy features hidden, it was slightly easier to lose herself in the inspection of his body. What you can't see can't hurt you, and all that. She allowed her hand to hover over his midsection, with a barely identifiable gap between his skin and hers. She moved it gently upwards, rising and falling with the curves of his abdominal muscles, but never quite touching his skin. Even without the actual contact, she could feel his heat, its energy rushing at her hand and sending shockwaves throughout the rest of her body.

A voice in the back of her mind was screaming for her to be rational, to think about what she was doing. She closed her eyes, continuing to enjoy the sensation of being so near to him, and hoping that not staring made her less guilty. It had suddenly become intensely hot and the voice in her head had reaching an inescapable volume. She had been on the verge of stopping or screaming or something. And in her preoccupation with chastising herself, she hadn't been careful to move with the curves of his body, unaware of the fact that her hand was coming ever nearer to the slopes of his chest.

_Touch. _

She gasped and fiercely shut her eyes even more tightly.

_Sweet, blissful touch. _

How had she, or anyone for that matter, ever doubted the existence of magic? The spells, the potions, the enchantments. If none of it had been enough to convince her, this would have. This mind-numbingly simple touch could have convinced her of anything. If it always felt like this, if he always felt like this, she would never refuse this man. She would do anything he wanted. Truly frightened by that realization, she pulled away sharply and forced her eyes open, forced herself to accept the truth of her actions.

Adopting a stiffly professional manner, she finished pulling the shirt over his head, perhaps a little more forcefully than she should have. She looked at him then, studying him, picking out every flaw that should have turned her away. She focused on the ugly slashes across his chest. She knew exactly where he'd gotten those scars.

She'd spent days trying to get Harry to tell her about that day in the lavatory, but he had refused all discussion. She tried to draw a connection between those hideous scars and his even more hideous past. Those scars were supposed to represent everything she knew she should hate about him. Years ago, she would have been inclined to invoke similar damage, but now…now, she wanted to run her hands across them. Her hands, her tongue, all of her, on him anywhere, everywhere. A vivid mental picture of her doing just that flashed through her mind and sent her crashing back to reality with a newly acquired blush adorning her cheeks.

Steeling her resolve again, she continued with his shoes, closely followed by his plain white socks. She stalled then, trying to find another piece of clothing to remove, anything but his trousers.

Unable to avoid it, finally, she anxiously reached for the drawstring on his hospital-issue trousers. Something wonderful and terrible rushed through her as she neared, and she wanted nothing more than to explore his smooth skin. The feeling inside her grew to an uncontrollable degree and her hand seemed to lurch forward of its own accord. Terrified, she pulled it back and used her other hand to hold it sternly in place. She couldn't trust her body, which seemed to defy all rational behavior. Instead she opted to Vanish his trousers, hiding her eyes from the result. After one small peek, then two, she was relieved to find him still covered by a pair of boxers.

Her relief was only momentary, because like peeling away the wrapping on a gift, each new layer was an obstacle. She blushed at the idea of Malfoy's boxers being the wrapping on a gift. 'An intriguing gift, indeed,' she thought.

In a brief moment of moral clarity, she decided to place Draco in the bath first, and then Vanish his boxers after he was already under water. Maybe then she could retain some respect for herself. As she Levitated him into the bath, she thought about how truly surreal this day had been. It seemed like ages ago that he had told her everything about his activity during the war, but in reality it had been barely over twenty-four hours. In the hours between then and now, she had run away, received some bizarre and infuriating letters from Harry, returned to Draco after he had injured himself, taken care of him, had one of the most indescribably wonderful moments of her life, stripped her former enemy down to his unmentionables, and was currently lowering him into a steaming tub of water. Talk about one hell of a day.

Once his body was submerged in the water, he tensed, but with the gentle caress of her hand across his brow, his anxiety subsided. She fixed her eyes on his face, refusing to look anywhere else, and with a wave of her wand, vanished the last bit of clothing on his person. She stayed for a moment, staring only at the peaceful, sleep-like expression on his face, unsure of what to do next. This was decided for her as he began to slowly slide down into the bath. Rushing to catch him before he was completely submerged, she looped her arms underneath his and pulled hard sending a wave of water over the edge of the tub. She was holding his body close, the sleeves and much of the torso of her robes soaked through. She tugged him upwards until he was sitting upright again.

His head lolled against her shoulder, his smooth hair tickling her face. She could feel the slow thudding of his heartbeat beneath her hands, and was immediately reminded of the earlier melody their combined heartbeats had formed

Remembering his current state of undress, she immediately settled him back against the edge of the tub. She decided to wash his hair first, as his head was farthest away from… well, other things. She took her time, shampooing his hair carefully, reveling in the feel of his silky locks, wishing her own hair was like his. Tilting his head back, she used a small cup to rinse away the soap. She washed his hair twice because it had been so long since his last shampoo, marveling at how clean and fresh his body still seemed despite his lack of regular bathing.

Tenderly, she cleaned his face with a damp cloth, feeling the high arch of his cheek bones beneath her fingers. She paid particular attention to his jaw. It was sharp and strong and the epitome of masculinity. She abandoned the cloth, then, and ran the pad of her pointer finger across his jaw. There was a light sprinkling of stubble, but his skin still felt like velvet. She knew that the nurses used a spell to magic away facial hair since razors were not allowed in the wards, but she decided not to use it. She liked him the way he was. It gave him a masculine quality that separated him further from the cruel boy he'd been those many years ago.

Using a quick spell, she trimmed his hair a bit, but not too much. She liked it a little long. When she could do no more with his hair, she moved down to his shoulders. Standing behind him, she drew the sponge up the slope of one and down the other, watching in fascination as the water trailed down his chest until it disappeared into the rest of the tub. She discarded the sponge, grabbed the soap, and worked up a rich foamy lather between her hands. Slowly she spread the soap over the taut muscles of his shoulders, allowing her hands to dance briefly over his neck. She began kneading the muscles, wanting to feel them underneath her hands. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling of his hard, but pliant body.

She didn't notice the stiffening of Draco's neck or his eyes opening suddenly. If she had, she would have seen immediately that his eyes held none of the raging passion she associated with the Slytherin, but were dull and lifeless. She continued her exploration of his shoulders and traced down his arms. She slowed as she went over his biceps, taking in the bulge of his muscles.

She remembered how it felt to be wrapped in his arms, pressed chest to chest. The funny thing about memory is it's never enough. It's never enough to remember how something felt, because it's never the same. It's easy to remember the emotions you felt during an event, but actually remembering the physical _feeling_ of someone's body against your own is something entirely different.

Her hands wandered across his chest, slowly dragging the soap along the curve of his pectoral muscles. She sighed and silently berated herself for enjoying this so much, too much. But it didn't stop her, it couldn't. She was too far gone. Her fingers were inching slowly down his torso when she felt a vice-like grip on both her hands.

Her eyes flew open to take in his long pale hands covering hers. She was behind him, with an arm on each side of his head. The position was incredibly intimate, especially considering that her hands were trapped between his rock-hard body and his equally firm hands.

She waited for the scathing comment or the raised eyebrow or the cocky smirk, but they never came. She couldn't see his face from her position, and she was beginning to wonder if he was even awake. Perhaps he had grabbed her in his sleep?

"Draco?" she whispered.

Immediately, as though in reaction to her voice, his grip tightened. Confused, she tried again. "Draco?"

His hands tightened sharply, crushing her fingers painfully and causing her to cry out.

"Draco? You're hurting me!" She tried to pull her hands back or nudge him with her elbows, but his grip was like iron. She could feel his nails beginning to leave indentions on her hand.

"Ow, stop it! Let me go. Draco? Are you awake?" She writhed trying to break from his grasp, but to no avail. She tried to push her elbows into his chest, tried to hurt him, anything to get free, but it didn't even faze him.

"This isn't funny. I'm sorry about the bath if that's why you're angry, but it's my job, Draco." He squeezed tighter, and there was a stinging sensation in her hands.

"I'm sorry. Please stop! _Draco_! Stop! _Stop!"_ She was crying now, from stress and pain and confusion. Finally, she managed to stand and maneuver an arm over his head so that she was facing him, but at an odd angle. She noticed then that his eyes were hazed over and realized that _Draco _wasn't doing this. It was the spell. She briefly questioned the change in the spell; it seemed more hostile now, towards her anyway. But those thoughts were gone, as his grip tightened.

She used all her strength to try and to pull her arms free. Her feet slid against the floor as she pulled away, unable to find purchase on the slick tile. Her eyes were squeezed shut with the pain which was almost too much to bear, when his grip abruptly disappeared, sending her flying backwards. The breath was knocked from her as she landed harshly. Barely lifting her head, her vision locked on lively, questioning, grey eyes.

Draco had shut himself off from his mind, but had immediately known when the spell had receded. When he came around, he saw Hermione sprawled on the ground. He took in the tears in her eyes and the way she was cradling her arms in her lap. He was torn away from his inspection by a small shiver. He was rather cold. It was then that he looked down and realized that he was in a tub of water… naked.

For once, he was at a loss for words. He looked at himself, then back at Granger. She was looking at him with an odd expression that was almost fear, but not quite. It reminded him of how she looked at him in school, defiant, but wary.

They stared at each other for one second. Two seconds. Three. Four. Five.

Draco wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, but his hands were busy covering a vital part of his anatomy. It had to be a dream. This was like one of those naked dreams that he'd always heard about, but never experienced. Resolved, he turned towards the door and stared.

"What are you looking for?" she questioned.

"I'm waiting for Weasley to walk through that door in a tutu because I must be dreaming."

She gave a small, but cautious laugh. "You're not dreaming."

"Well in that case," he scoffed, "I have only three words that fit this situation." He paused momentarily.

"What the fuck?"

A/N: Ugh… I know it's taken an incredibly long time, but I had a bit of trouble with this chapter. Thank you all for sticking with me. Oh, and if you haven't already, check out my Valentine's Day one-shot, "Cupid Cards: Trapped."

I'd love for you guys to review and tell me how you liked the chapter. If you do, I might just let Draco stay naked a little bit longer. Wink

And I've already started working on the next update for We Happy Few, too!


	16. Friendly Enemies

A/N: Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. I would continue to write this for an entire page if I thought it could possibly make up the extra long wait for you guys, but I know it can't. So I'll skip the inadequate apologies and go straight to the next chapter.

Moments of Sanity

Chapter 16- Friendly Enemies

_"Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy into friend." Martin Luther King, Jr._

She could feel herself blush from her face right down to her unmanicured toes. Her mind was on overdrive, looking for the words to say, any words that could possibly explain what she'd been doing and why Malfoy was naked. She looked down, hoping he couldn't detect her distress, and caught sight of her wrist lying limply in her own lap. There were already bruises beginning to form where he had held her so tightly. She covered the marks with her hand and chanced a glance upward at Draco.

He still looked quite bewildered, glancing back and forth between her and the door, as though he were still waiting for some ridiculous dream Ron to come prancing through the door.

"Don't you remember?" she asked.

"Remember how and why you got me naked? No, unfortunately I don't. If only, Granger, if only. But I have a feeling that hearing your recount won't be near as much fun as living it." He drawled, and then looked off wistfully as though a scenario of his own invention were playing before his eyes.

"You don't remember anything? You don't remember me… um… bathing you?"

She thought she might have detected a hint of pink on his cheeks, but when she looked again, it was gone.

"Nope, I'm afraid I don't. But I wouldn't be opposed to a recreation of that particular event. " He smirked.

It was easy, then, to sink back into old familiar attitudes. She settled a glare on her face and sent him a rather rude hand gesture as an answer.

"Oh, come on Granger, it is your job." He smirked and continued, "And now that you mention it, I still feel very… dirty." He stretched his arms out over the sides of the tub, no longer bothering to shield any of his more private parts.

Hermione turned away without a second glance or anything else that would encourage him. Her life was bizarre enough at the moment without engaging in battles of sexual innuendo with Draco Malfoy.

"I'd rather die," she replied as she busied herself tidying up the rest of the room.

"Come now, Granger, we're both adults. I don't mind you admiring my physique, as long as you don't mind me admiring yours," he said with a sneaky grin.

"Well then, take a good look at my arse as I'm leaving, because it's the last time you'll see it!" she sneered and turned towards the door.

"Granger, wait!" he yelled.

She paused, but didn't turn around. She hadn't really intended on leaving-- she had just wanted to see his reaction.

"Don't go, Granger."

"Why shouldn't I?" she asked, still facing away from him.

"I just… I—" he paused trying to find a less pathetic way of telling her that he needed her. "I was only kidding. Have a little pity." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hated that word. Pity.

She turned then and laughed openly. "Pity? YOU are asking ME to have pity? I never thought I'd see the day."

"I bet you never thought you'd see the day that I'd be in here, either. I know I sure didn't," he replied bitterly.

"You overestimate yourself. I've always known you were crazy." There was a tinge of challenge in her voice.

He sat upright in the bathtub, water sloshing around from his sudden movement, and nearly growled his reply, "I'm NOT crazy."

"Right," she replied flippantly. She knew she was being cruel, but she'd been busting her arse for this guy for weeks now and for what? So, he could continue to mock her? Plain and simple, Draco Malfoy was a prick. And after absorbing so much prickiness, one eventually came to the inevitable explosion. And this-- this was it.

"I thought I should let you know, today is my last day. I've been granted a transfer to another department," she lied.

What little color he had drained from his face within a matter of moments.

"You might want to get dressed," she adde, "My replacement should be here shortly. I'll wait outside while you change." She was out the door before he even attempted to reply.

As soon as he heard the door click shut, he sank down into the tub until his entire head was beneath the water. He waited there, holding his breath, and his eyes shut tightly to keep out the soapy water.

He didn't even know how to react. Perhaps he had severely underestimated Granger's compassion. It seemed that like everyone else, she too, had changed drastically with the war. A sense of hopelessness settled in his chest and seemed to weigh him down, pushing him further below the surface of the water.

Would it be so bad if he were never to emerge from under the water? He'd always harbored a certain fear of death. He assumed that most people feared death, or rather feared what would occur after death. It was terrifying not knowing what was waiting—hell, heaven, or perhaps worse, nothing at all. Fear of death came with feeling inadequate, with leading an unfulfilled life. More than anything, it came with being a bad person. And if Draco considered himself any kind of person, it certainly wasn't a good one. Now, Granger, _she_ should have no reason to fear death. She was the exact opposite of him. If he were honest with himself, he would know that she was probably the closest thing to perfection walking the planet. And if he held nothing back, he'd know that above anything else, she was good, _too good-- _well, at least too good for him anyway.

If he had stopped, he would have realized how peculiar it was that his thoughts, possibly his very last thoughts if he didn't emerge from the water soon, were not of life or the absence of it. His thoughts weren't about what he should have done better or what he shouldn't have done at all. One would have thought that, being Draco Malfoy, his thoughts would have been first and foremost of himself. But they weren't.

They were solely about _her._

But he didn't stop to realize how unselfish his thoughts were. His lungs were beginning to burn from lack of air, and he was flirting with the edge of unconsciousness. He didn't spare a single thought for saving himself, almost as though it wasn't even an option.

He could conjure an image of her in his mind perfectly, right down to the last freckle. Again, he didn't stop to realize the oddity of this idea. He just continued pondering her image. He didn't blame her for leaving him, not in the least. It was what he deserved. And if he had to be rejected by someone, it was right that if be her.

He was nearing his last breath of air when two small hands closed around his arms and tugged fiercely.

"What in the name of Merlin are you doing?" she shouted.

There was an evident edge of panic in her voice. And he wasn't sure which he enjoyed more—that first breath of air or the sound of her voice.

His lungs were burning as he gasped for breath. He had a feeling that his face was even paler than usual. He coughed, unable to keep up with his urgent need for oxygen. He looked up at Hermione, expecting to see worry, or relief, or anything else besides the rage that was written clearly across her face.

"Let's get one thing straight here and now, Malfoy. I'm not the same girl I was in school, and you are not some house elf who deserves my help. I grew up, and the war taught me many things. It taught me that some people aren't worth saving, not worth my compassion. Some people NEVER change. And some marks are deeper than the skin on your forearm," she hissed.

He found himself lowering his head in shame, and self-consciously glancing at his now-bare forearm. If not for a hundred other things, he owed Potter for killing that bastard and subsequently removing that hideous mark from his arm forever. He hung his head and waited for her to continue her screaming. But when her words came out in little more than a whisper, his head shot up.

"But despite all of those things, I helped you. And if you would like me to continue helping you, you sure as hell better believe that you're worth it. Otherwise, I never will."

Silence hung between them, but he didn't lower his eyes, and her gaze never wavered.

His breathing was constricted, but he knew it had nothing to do with his previous brush with death. Her words meant many things, but more than anything it meant that she cared. He wasn't sure how to react to that. And he hated that her caring affected him. He was supposed to hate her, but instead he just hated that he didn't. He didn't trust himself to reply, so he just nodded.

She waited a moment, studying his reserved demeanor, and then returned the nod.

"So," he continued quietly, "who is this replacement?"

It was her turn to lower her head. "Oh, well, about that. I wasn't entirely telling the truth."

"What part of that was the truth?" He asked.

"The part about waiting outside while you change." She smiled demurely.

Draco found himself filled with something almost like hopefulness and the sudden lightness in his chest almost enabled a small laugh to escape from his mouth. Almost.

Hermione was surprised to find that he wasn't angry in the least, but for the first time in weeks, looked almost happy. The silence continued between them, but it wasn't awkward, but light and surprisingly comfortable.

"Well," Hermione started, "I'll leave you to it. Let me know when you're done."

She quietly retreated from the room. The door closed with a click and Draco sighed. He was surprised to find himself smiling, but he didn't suppress the feeling. He gloried in the hope that had broken through the bleak bondage of the spell.

This moment of hope was like an eclipse of the sun, managed to shine through the darkness and create a moment of infinite and radiant beauty. But like always, a moment is just a moment. And after the moment ends, it's nothing more than a memory. And with time, the luminescence of that memory diminishes and the feeling of that hope dissipates.

It is a dangerous thing, hope. It can brighten up any moment, but in the event of failure or loss, it makes the darkness even deeper

This was how Draco's mind worked. Every good thing had a dark and terrible shadow creeping in its wake, except Granger. Granger, in his mind, had no shadows, no darkness. She was continuous, abundant light—illuminating, even if sometimes blinding.

He sat there, motionless, lost in his thoughts for a few moments, before finally rising from the tub. Water splashed around him, filling the space he had previously occupied. He searched for a towel, but found none. With a scowl he stepped out onto the cool floor, leaving small puddles behind as he padded towards his clothes. He picked up his ward-issued pants and shirt, but found no boxers.

He called, "Granger!" then turned back to the bed to look again.

He heard the door open and shut and barely thought to cover himself before he heard a small scream.

"Oh God." She whispered. "I—oh my—I'm sorry," she replied, after whirling around to face the opposite direction. "I… you… you called. I assumed. Oh _God_."

This might have been one of the most embarrassing moments of his life (right up there with the ferret incident), if it weren't for Hermione's absurd sputtering and blushing, which were highly amusing and almost cute.

"Now Granger, I told you earlier that you could admire my physique as much as you like, but you must return the favor."

She turned around determined to lash out at him, but realized he was still nude except for the pants he was holding in front of his body, blushed even more deeply, and covered her eyes.

"Jesus, Malfoy, why are you still naked?" she asked.

"Because I enjoy it?" he ventured.

She made a noise that was terribly close to a growl and he continued, "I yelled for you because I couldn't find my boxers."

"Oh," she replied, her hand still over her eyes. "I Vanished them."

"You what?" he questioned, "What have you got against my boxers that would make you want to Vanish them? You prefer briefs?"

She made to reply, pointing her finger at him, but had used the hand that had been covering her eyes. Again, her eyes were drawn to his bare form, and blushing ensued.

"Oh Morgana," she mumbled, and with one flick of her wand, he was dry and dressed from head to toe.

He looked pleased, but paused for a moment. As though it were completely normal, he grasped the top of his pants and lifted them a few inches from his body, peering inside.

Hermione stared back at him, gob smacked.

Draco, in a matter of fact manner, answered, "I was just checking that you'd got the boxers."

Hermione just rolled their eyes.

An awkward silence filled the void between them, almost like the morning after a one-night stand, but without the sex and hangovers.

"Are you going to explain or shall I just venture a guess?" He asked.

"What's there to explain? I gave you a bath," she replied. "But don't worry, I didn't see the precious Malfoy family jewels."

"What does my being naked have anything to do with the Malfoy jewels?" He asked, his confusion evident.

She laughed briefly before mumbling, "I guess that's strictly a Muggle phrase."

He didn't take kindly to her laughter, especially when he had no idea what was funny.

"Relax, Malfoy. I waited until you were underwater to Vanish your under things, so I didn't see anything. Or at least I hadn't until a few moments ago."

There was a small pause, and then the two of them shared a laugh. Everything suddenly seemed ten times lighter and much more amusing. The two settled into an amiable silence, he sitting on the bed and she in a chair she Conjured. It was almost like they were two friends, enjoying a comfortable afternoon together, perhaps reading or listening to Wizard Radio. But they weren't friends, and there were no books or radios in sight.

"So, I have news," she began, "about the spell."

The ease of their earlier moments dissipated, leaving the air filled with tense excitement and the tiniest sprinkling of hope. She saw the muscles of his hand tighten with anticipation and was sure that the rest of him was on edge as well. He opened his mouth to tell her to hurry it up, but found that his voice was absent.

She continued, " I… er… well, I found some books in Malfoy Manor."

His voice came rushing back with vengeance. "Malfoy Manor? What?"

"Harry is in charge of the ministry inspection there, so he allowed me to look in the library there."

At the look of panic on his face, she quickly continued, "He doesn't know. Don't worry. I haven't told anyone about you."

He played off the panic carefully, as though worry were the farthest thing from his mind. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall whenever that conversation takes place."

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued, "Anyway, I found a book about Malfoy Family Punishment Curses. Sound familiar?"

If possible, Draco lost every ounce of coloring fromhis face. He nodded jerkily and closed his eyes. When they reopened, Hermione saw a hint of fear hidden beneath their stormy, grey exterior. It was evident from the look on her face that she expected him to explain.

"I don't know much about it, just whispers. It isn't something that is spoken of in polite conversation." His voice dropped in volume, "The curses have only been used a few times in our entire history, but when I was very small, around seven, I wandered into a room deep in the manor that I'd never noticed before. There was a painting of one of my ancestors called Frederic, I believe. He'd been disowned by the family and punished with one of the Malfoy Curses. It had come at a time when there was a great rift between members of the family, and in an attempt to make him an example for all those considering rebellion, they'd had a portrait made of him after the effects of the spell. It was a horrible thing to see. I had nightmares about it for years."

He broke off from his story and Hermione realized that he was shaking. She looked into his eyes, and as though a veil of some sort had been dropped, she saw his hopes and his fears laid bare in his anguished orbs.

"I can't become that, Hermione," he whispered so quietly that she might have thought she'd imagined it, were it not for the movement of his lips.

Her eyes were suddenly overwhelmed with tears, and had he been Harry or Ron, she would have hugged him with all the strength she had. But this was Malfoy, so she just blinked away the tears, and nodded in understanding.

"According to the book," she said, "there are three spells, but I only had time to read about the first one before I came here. The first one is the only one known to have been used, which means it was probably the one used on the man in the portrait you saw. I didn't have time to translate the incantation, but the explanation said that the spell mimics insanity until actual insanity occurs. Also, the spell adapts according to the weaknesses of the host."

There seemed to be a never-ending void taking up residence in his chest, stealing away his breath, stealing away his life.

"So that's it then." he replied.

She cleared her throat quietly, "Sounds like it."

"Did the book happen to mention a counter-curse?" He asked.

Hermione lowered her eyes and answered carefully, "The book gave very little information, but I'm hoping to glean more when I translate the incantation."

Draco could tell that the book had left little hope for a cure. She looked up at him then, some emotion that he wasn't familiar with shining through her eyes, and it seemed to draw him towards her. He slowly leaned towards her, ready to speak or touch or anything, when there was a knock at the door.

Hermione's eyes flew towards the door. When she looked back at him, she was worried.

"Um… be crazy!" she ordered as she made her way to the door. She turned back to find him shaking with his face screwed up oddly.

"For goodness sake," she whispered, "that's not crazy. Just sit there in a daze or something."

Draco did as he was told, and she opened the door just enough to stick her head out.

There was a young woman there, probably fresh out of Hogwarts. Hermione recognized her as one of the desk attendants.

"Healer Granger, there's an owl for you from Harry Potter." The young girl's voice seemed to climb an octave when she uttered Harry's name. Probably another fan girl.

"Thank you," she replied, taking the letter from the girl and slipping back into the room.

Draco was scowling up at her, shaking his head fiercely. She stopped for a moment and looked at him. "Not bad, I'd believe you were crazy."

"Funny," he replied, "I'd say the same for you."

She laughed mockingly at him, and then sank down onto his bed.

"Are you talking to the fire-starter now?" he asked.

Hermione blanched, remembering the night she'd confessed to him what she'd seen of Harry, and then blushed, remembering what came after. She bent over the letter, unrolling the scroll carefully. When she straightened, Draco was sitting right next to her, the heat of his body calling to her.

Under the pretense of reading the letter privately, she cleared her throat and moved across the room. All in all, it was a rather long apology for his behavior as of late, attributing it all to the stress of work, in particular the escape of Lucius Malfoy. Her heart thudded heavily in her chest as she read that name.

She glanced up at Draco who was lounging charismatically on his bed. She hadn't told him yet, and something in her urged her to keep silent still. They both had enough to deal with at the moment.

She returned to Harry's letter and sighed. She had absolutely no desire to visit Harry. Every time she thought of him, it was accompanied by a rush of fear and flash of fire. She'd much rather stay here with Draco.

Her head snapped back up to look at Malfoy, as though he might have heard her surprising and possibly traitorous thoughts, but he was still lying there on the bed, oblivious to the frightening leap her subconscious had just taken.

She wasn't sure if it was their situation or just him, but something had propelled them from enemies to allies, or perhaps just allied enemies. The possibility of friendship between the two of them danced persuasively through her mind. She looked at him again, his hair falling casually across his eyes, and it was easy to forget about the chaos surrounding them. He glanced up at her momentarily, his eyes free of malice and scheming, and she felt a rush of heat deep in her belly before his eyelids fluttered shut.

The desire rippling through her and the realization that it was the end of her shift propelled her to speak.

"I have to be going."

Draco's eyes opened and he propped himself up on one elbow. His hair dangled alluringly across his forehead and Hermione had to force herself to take a step towards the door, rather than towards him.

"I'll research the spell as much as I can and we'll talk more tomorrow. But I need you to be careful about how you act around the other healers. When I have to give an account of your progress,I don't think I could explain you talking to another healer or hitting on some young nurse."

He laughed, but found that the idea of hitting on or even speaking to another woman had never crossed his mind. He'd been in the company of a few females during some of his sane moments, but this problem wasn't something he shared lightly. It belonged to him… and Granger.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she added and turned towards the door.

"Granger."

She turned back towards him.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time here, and I'm not stupid enough to think St. Mungo's makes you stay this long."

A small blush crept up her cheeks and she fiddled nervously with the sleeve of her robe.

"But I thought I'd say… _thank you._"

She glanced up at him and their eyes locked for the briefest of moments. Then, two words and half a dozen emotions filled the space between them.

"You're welcome."

A/N: Thank you all for being patient with the long wait and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I hope that you all will leave me a review, too! Also, I just saw the OotP Movie-- amazing!

Reviews make the world go round! (and they make me smile!)


	17. By Heart

A/N: Reasons you should hate me: taking so long to update.

Reasons you should love me: A chapter filled with Draco/Hermione interaction AND… the translation of the spell!!!

"We know the truth, not only by the reason, but also by the heart." – Blaise Pascal

**By Heart**

Draco was going insane.

Or at least it felt that way.

She was supposed to return today, right? She had said that she would be back "tomorrow" which was now today. So why wasn't she here?

From the moment she'd left his room the day before, he'd been waiting for her return. Every part of him was waiting.

He needed the intellectual stimulation. But more than that, he needed to talk about the spell. He'd attempted to sleep sometime in the early hours of the morning, but he was plagued by hundreds of mad portraits of himself decorating a hallway that stretched on for forever. He'd given up on sleep quite quickly after that.

Her news of the spell the day before had shaken him. So much so that he now _wanted_ to live. He'd spent so much of the last years just waiting—waiting for insanity or death. Or both. And now he felt alive, so very alive.

Grudgingly, he suspected that it was she who made him feel that way. Someone like that—someone so full of light—couldn't help but scare away a bit of the darkness.

Surely it was time for her to arrive. It felt as though the day were almost over. Gods, what he wouldn't give for a watch!

And some decent food.

Chocolate, definitely chocolate.

And a comfortable bed.

And a girl.

In his comfortable bed.

Okay, so there were a lot of things that he would give anything for at this point, except he just didn't have anything to give.

Which made him question Granger's motives again. Just what was she getting out of this? Perhaps medical fame when she cured him—_if_ she cured him. Or, dare he joke, the pleasure of his company? But she did seem to care more than just his doctor would.

At that moment, the door to his room opened, and a pile of books with legs walked through the door. And he found himself noticing just how nice a pair of legs they were, but then his eyes were abruptly drawn to the books she was carrying. The first title he saw read _Bewitching the Mind._

She laid the books on the floor a few feet away from him, and then proceeded to sit on the floor opposite him.

"I brought you some books. I figured you could use a bit of light reading to take your mind off some things."

"Well, thanks," he replied, picking up the book nearest to him, "But I think _Dark Curses for Controlling the Mind_ might be just a little too light and cheerful for me."

She laughed.

And the remnants of it echoed joyously in his chest for moments afterward.

"I meant these."

She pushed a smaller stack of books toward him, all of which had titles pertaining to Quidditch.

He retrieved the book on the top of the stack, slowly running his hand down the spine with a delicacy that she hadn't known was in him.

He opened the book to find crisp, white pages and the unique scent of a new book—a scent that they both recognized and he had gone far too long without.

He wanted to laugh and maybe even cry. He wanted to ask her if she knew how long it had been since he'd read anything. He wanted to say that it had been years since he'd read anything besides obituaries, short, scribbled notes, his own frantic journal entries, and newspaper clippings he'd found in alleys. He wanted to tell her how much this meant.

But instead he just mumbled "thanks" under his breath.

She smiled her smile and replied, "You're welcome."

She grabbed one of the books about curses and set about reading. It was then that he noticed her unruly curls—even more unruly than usual. There were black ink stains on her fingertips and purple bags beneath her eyes. She was biting her lip, and it was a deep red—almost as if she'd spent hours nibbling on it. He knew that she could feel his eyes on her, but for some reason she appeared afraid to face him.

The book that had moved him so lay forgotten in his lap. Instead of studying long-forgotten words, he studied the lines of her face. Instead of immersing himself in an old hobby, he immersed himself in the scent of her hair. He reveled in the disheveled state of her appearance, knowing that something had kept her up all night, just like him. He wondered if the same physical signs of worry and fatigue were visible in his appearance.

"You don't like the book?"

His eyes snapped back to hers.

"No, no. It's great. Really. Wonderful."

She studied him momentarily, then nodded. "Okay."

"Listen, Granger, I'm thankful for the books and all, but care to enlighten me on what you're reading?"

She let out a small breath, but her eyes told him that she didn't want to talk about it. She paused for what seemed an infinitely long moment, then spoke.

"I…uh…it doesn't look good."

"You mean I'm fucked?"

"I didn't say that."

"You meant it. Or maybe you meant it with a bit less vulgar language."

She started to laugh, but it ended in a sigh.

"But remember that these spells, they…very little is known, so there is a possibility that you're not…"

"Not…?"

"Fucked," she whispered.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward in an almost-smile. Her cheeks reddened, and she shut her eyes, trying to regain some sort of composure. He was struck by a sudden urge to touch her cheek to see if the color could deepen anymore. Her lips gave a hint of a tense smile, but she was holding it back for some reason. He thought of running his thumb across those lips, releasing the tension and…

He blinked.

When his eyelids raised, her eyes were no longer closed and he could see in her eyes the reason a smile had not graced her lips. She must know. She must have translated the spell.

"All right, Bookworm, out with it."

She felt as though she were carrying her heart in her feet. But something about the way he called her "bookworm" made it jump up to her knees—it was almost affectionate. But then the words she was about to speak filled her mind and her heart went crashing to the floor again.

She wasn't sure who had the harder part here—he, for having to hear this, or she, having to tell it. She pulled a sheet of paper out of her pocket. There were ink smudges all over it and it looked as though someone had crumpled it up to throw it away, before thinking better of it.

Draco resisted the urge to snatch the paper from her hands.

She wasn't sure if she should give some sort of preface, but in the end decided better of it. They both knew what secrets this paper held.

The image of her now was wondrously and terribly poignant. Her eyes were red—fearful and hopeful at the same time. Her hair was a mess, her teeth worrying her reddened lower lip. Her cheeks were still flushed as she opened her mouth to speak.

She cleared her throat and began, "Ego capio tu, memoriam, sententiam, mensa mentisa, nuilus diutus ham tu ut imperium. Mutatio tu, quasso tu, potior tu. Magicae vorom tu, vinco vici vitetum tu. Tu fio praedam, esca dum morsa mortista o insaniaro."

As she read the text of the spell, a chill travelled down Draco's spine. There couldn't be more contrast between the last time he probably heard these words and the situation in which he was hearing them now.

"Roughly translated means, 'I take you-- memory, thought, mind-- no longer for you to command. Change you, break you, possess you. Magic consumes you and conquers you. You become the prey until death or insanity.'"

When she finished, he took a deep breath. Surprisingly, he wasn't as affected by it as he would have thought. There had been an anchor weighing heavily in his chest, and the fact that it sunk a little deeper didn't change the feeling much. If it came down to it, surely death didn't seem like that poor an escape option. A small part of him did hope that another option might open itself. He looked up to ask, "what next?" But the words never found their way to the surface.

She was crying. She was doing her best to hide it, but she was definitely crying.

"Granger…" he whispered.

Some of her resolve crumbled away and she released a quiet sob.

"Granger… what happened to the not-being-fucked side of this situation?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know what's… I'm sorry. I, I—"

"Shut up, Granger."

"I-I'm fine."

"No, you're not, you're a Gryffindor. You'll never be fine."

"I hate you," she sniffed.

"No, but you wish you did."

She stared at him, and her bleary, red eyes opened wide.

Then she cried. Again.

"Christ, Granger."

Without taking the time to think about it, he hooked an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his chest. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed. The second their bodies collided, a fever broke out across his skin, and with every breath she took against him, his temperature spiked.

If he wasn't so focused on the feel of her chest wedged against his own, he would have been beating himself over the head as punishment for his stupidity.

As the seconds passed, he found himself fearing the moment when he would push her away, or worse, the moment when she would choose to pull away first. There was something distinctly natural about having her in his arms.

He wondered if she could feel the way his heart was dancing in his chest.

He wondered if they were considered friends now.

He wondered if this was what friendship was.

She shifted slightly and he knew the moment was coming—the moment of separation that would steal away the warmth in his chest and leave doubt and questioning in its place.

He looked down at her. Her eyes were shut tightly, her head still lying lightly against him.

"Thank you," she whispered.

She lingered for a moment longer and then pulled away. She retreated immediately back to her work, and for a moment, he could have convinced himself that it never happened. He touched his chest, feeling the warmth she left behind, and inhaled her slightly fruity scent. He grasped the lingering effects of her presence, relishing the reality of that moment.

She was a mess. Because of him. And not because of his prejudice or his harsh words. She was a mess _for_ him.

Something welled up so generously in him that it threatened to boil over. And he smiled.

But then he noticed that his heartbeat, which had skyrocketed at her touch, hadn't calmed as he had expected. He shuddered as a bead of sweat trailed down his neck.

He looked at her and their eyes met. She smiled curiously. He clenched his fists. She opened her mouth to laugh, and his muscles tightened.

She was speaking to him, her face lit up with concern, but he couldn't hear her. There was a rushing sound in his ears, like the winds of a hurricane blowing past the mouth of a cave. His eyes began to burn, so he shut them tight.

"Draco?" Hermione asked, but received no response. "Draco?"

The burning began to spread throughout him, raising to a full boil in his chest.

"Go!" he gasped.

"Draco," Hermione kneeled beside him, "Are you all right?"

He tried to tell her again. "Granger—"

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and something exploded within him.

In the blink of an eye, he had taken her by her arms and thrust her against the nearest wall. She cried out, her feet dangling a foot above the floor.

She tried to move, and his grip became more furious.

Involuntary tears were beginning to form in the corner of her eyes, "Draco…" she whispered again and again, to no avail.

She waited a moment, and then threw all her weight to one side, hoping to throw him off balance. She barely moved him.

He growled, and her back went slamming against the wall again. There was a piercing feeling in her lungs as she tried to catch her breath. And she was waiting for a fierce blow to come at any moment. Her eyes were shut tight, waiting, preparing.

But nothing came.

His jaw was clenched tightly, so tightly it looked as though his teeth might be ground into dust. She looked into his eyes, seeing the dull, lifelessness characteristic of the spell, but there was something different—something that almost brought her hope. He stared at the wall, his breath coming in short, painful puffs.

He was fighting it.

And losing.

One moment his grip would loosen and his jaw relax, but then seconds later the spell would come rebounding back—stronger and more vicious than before.

She placed a hand on his cheek, whispering his name, willing him to fight harder. He leaned into her touch for half a second, but then his hand came flying towards her neck, clutching it harshly.

Panicking, she kicked at him, clawing, trying desperately to make him slip or lose his grip. His fingers only tightened. She felt as though her entire life was about to be crushed in the palm of his hand.

As her need for air increased, her attempts at freedom became more erratic and even less successful. Each time her eyes fluttered shut, it became more difficult to open them once more.

Finally relief came.

She thought she'd finally slipped into the bliss of unconsciousness, but then her body collided hard with the floor, and she groaned.

She heard the muffled call of her name, but she suddenly felt extremely tired. And despite the person above her, persistently attempting to awaken her, she just couldn't open her eyes. Everything felt heavy.

Draco was experiencing a similar heaviness in his heart. It was trying furiously to pump, but failing. He'd had to watch the entire time, as she struggled and cried, unable to do or say anything. He cradled her head, trying desperately to wake her, but she had gone limp and lifeless.

Terrified, he did the first thing that came to his mind. He shoved the books far underneath his bed, until they couldn't be seen. And then he rushed to the door. Knowing that it would mean only bad things for him, he pressed the large red button marked, "help."

A siren sounded, and he rushed back to Hermione. He held her, unsure of what to do. If only he could, he was willing to breathe for her, live for her, die for her. He reached for her hand, trying to steady his own which was shaking terribly. The ink-stained note, which contained the bleak words dictating his future, was balled up in her fist. As he took the paper, a key could be heard turning in the lock.

When a herd of people trampled through the door, they saw a young healer unconscious in the arms of a boorish, young madman. It took mere seconds for two of the males to dive at Draco, tearing him forcefully away from Hermione. He stayed silent as they pinned him harshly to the floor. He only listened as a witch began surveying Hermione's body.

There were two witches talking. One asked, "What's her name?"

There was only silence. The other healer shook her head.

'Granger!' Draco wanted to scream, 'Hermione Granger!' but he didn't.

As they levitated Hermione's body, he fought to watch, even as they pushed his head to the floor repeatedly. They checked for a pulse—present, but faint. They proceeded to guess her age and weight. Draco yearned to tell them that she was twenty three, between 120 and 130 pounds, probably closer to 120. She was a fiery, dark-haired Gryffindor who had remarkable will-power and compassion. And if they didn't save her… if they didn't save her… everything else would cease to matter.

When the last of her monstrous hair disappeared out of the doorway, he gave in, allowing them to subdue and bind him. He closed his eyes, conjuring up a vision of Hermione laughing and smiling and very much alive. He recalled everything to the very last detail—that stubborn piece of hair that always stuck out regardless of what she did, the way her left eye crinkled more when she laughed than her right, and that tiny little freckle on her jaw line just below her ear.

He didn't need a picture or even her presence to recall that way she wrinkled her nose right before she laughed. He knew that by heart.

And he knew she would live. She had to.

He wasn't sure how, but he just knew. Not because of any shred of truth or piece of reason; he only knew it in his heart.

Because something told him that in a world without Hermione Granger, his heart would not beat softly in his chest, and his lungs would not expand with slow and steady ease. In a world without Hermione Granger, everything would cease to matter.

He would cease to matter.

And in that moment, the paper clutched tightly in his fist and the spell of which it told, did cease to matter.

A/N: Hello all… I'm terribly sorry it has been so long. I've missed you all! I've been working non-stop and preparing, because next semester I'm studying abroad in the NETHERLANDS! Yay! But I hope this chapter made up for the wait! Thanks to all those who have stuck with this story despite the wait and SO MANY thanks to Eilonwy, my marvelous beta!

Also, I must say that the spell and its translation are definitely not accurate Latin grammar. I did the best I could, but I'm not worried about having it exactly correct, we've all stretched our imaginations this far, a bit further won't hurt.

Love Love Love you all!

Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays! (Whichever suits you)! 


	18. Tied Down

A/N: Didn't I tell you all I'd be quicker with the next update? See, promise kept! As usual, thanks to my wonderful beta eilonwy! And I hope you all enjoy!

"_Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of __separation__"_

_Kahlil Gibran_

Chapter 18

Tied Down

Hermione was fighting against the thick haze in her mind, determined to break through. There was something she had to do, something that needed to be taken care of, but she couldn't grasp exactly what that something was. She knew if she could just open her eyes, the answer would come readily, but she was having such strange difficulty with this easy task.

She relaxed, deciding to take a break before trying again. In the calm, she noticed that even though her eyes were not under her control, her hearing was perfectly intact. She listened trying to discern the noises around her. There was the shuffling of feet very close to her, right by her side, and then she felt a cold touch to her wrist. A voice came with the feet, speaking in an informative and cheery voice.

"Miss Granger is going to be just fine. We gave her some sedatives to help her rest, because she was a little hysterical when she first awoke, which is understandable of course. However, she should awaken within the hour, and she'll be free to go home when all the drugs have worn off."

"Thank you, Healer Preston."

Hermione involuntarily cringed. She didn't need the healer's response to identify the owner of the other voice.

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Potter."

She listened as the echo of the healer's footsteps travelled away from her, and within moments, the sound was lost to her ears completely.

Harry took hold of her hand, and she hated the way a chill travelled down her spine. She tried to force herself to remember that he was her friend, one of the very best friends anyone could have. She remembered all the times he'd saved her life and loved her so strongly. But then, as though her thoughts were on fast-forward, her mind quickly flew through his declarations of love, their horrid date, and finally to the incident in his office, to which she had been a terrified witness. The image burned into her mind, and she suddenly wished strongly for the control of her hand, to cringe, to move away, to separate herself from his heated skin that only reminded her of his heated gaze.

She strained her ears to determine if someone else was in the room, but she could only detect his breathing and her own.

"Hermione…" he whispered, "I've missed you. You've been so distant. It's wonderful being this close to you again."

He paused, only his gentle breathing reaching her ears.

"Please don't hate me, Hermione. I know… I—I know that you saw me that night."

Hermione heard the gentle stutter of her heartbeat through the monitor next to her bed, and she prayed that he didn't notice.

"I want to explain. I need to, but I'm not sure how. I have no reasonable excuse for my behavior. I can only say that I allowed myself to be gripped so tightly by my obsession with Lucius Malfoy that when he escaped, I simply lost control. I know that it is no excuse, but it's all I have to offer. You can't imagine how it felt to see you running from me. It's something I never wish to experience again."

Hermione was thankful for the constant supply of oxygen through machines, because otherwise she might have had trouble taking in air. She had no idea that he'd seen her that night, and suddenly the thought paralyzed her, not because it had been a reaction to Lucius—she actually thought it quite a reasonable excuse for such anger. She was paralyzed because she couldn't help but make the connection between Lucius and the only other living Malfoy, who was currently under her care at St. Mungo's. She knew that Harry knew nothing of his whereabouts-- otherwise he most certainly would not be by her bedside in this moment, but rather doing something she was terrified to imagine. But what would happen when he found out? She imagined Draco, trapped in his white-washed room, helplessly facing off against Harry, the room in flames like Harry's office had been.

A sudden jolt rocked through her system as she realized that the fear that gripped her now was not for herself, but solely for the well-being of Draco Malfoy. A month ago, she would have laughed at the ridiculous thought, but now her heart ached with such strength that she was afraid it might stop beating.

There was no question in her mind. She would protect Draco at any cost, against friend or foe.

Harry's confession was interrupted by the voice of Ron Weasley.

"Bloody hell, mate, she looks as pale as a ghost."

Harry didn't reply, only released her hand and moved away from her side. Within moments, she felt Ron's overly large hand take hers and felt a gentle touch on her cheek, she assumed from Luna.

"Doctor says she'll be fine, should wake up any time, then we can take her home," Harry supplied.

No one replied. Hermione could imagine their grim faces. Ron's would probably be tinged red with anger at St. Mungo's, or more correctly her patient. She'd have to be careful with him, too. She didn't fear his reaction in the way she feared Harry's, but she knew that he would definitely spread the information to anyone listening. She imagined Luna standing there, her belly rounded with child, giving off a calm and peaceful energy. She remembered her last interaction with Luna, and the knowing look on her face when she asked about Hermione's work. Luna might pose the most realistic threat to her secret, but Hermione could not conjure up an ounce of worry. Something told her that she could trust Luna implicitly.

It was Luna who spoke next. "Harry, you look just awful. Ronald, why don't you take him to get some coffee and walk off some of that fatigue?"

Harry didn't argue and soon Hermione heard their fading footsteps.

"Hermione?" Luna whispered.

Hermione decided it was time to attempt opening her eyes again, and she found that she accomplished the task with comparative ease.

Luna smiled, "I thought you might be awake."

Hermione could only smile in return, a sense of serenity easing the anxiety that had been coursing through her system.

Luna studied her for a moment, staring curiously into her eyes, and then pulled up a chair to her bedside.

"Did I ever tell you how I first knew that I was in love with Ron?"

Unsure of where this conversation was going, Hermione only shook her head, and motioned for Luna to continue.

"Well, it was some time after the war, after you all so graciously offered me friendship."

Hermione wanted to object and say that they had been friends long before the end of the war, but decided not to interrupt the flow of her story.

"I can't say that I hadn't noticed Ron, his…" –she searched for a word— "…_vibrant _personality makes him difficult to ignore, but I think I had started to really, truly notice him during the war. Something about the way he would make jokes in the darkest of situations made it easier for me to cope. I found myself attuned to that adorable little quirked smile of his and the way his ears would redden. Silly me, I even was able to tell the difference between an angry, embarrassed, and happy blush. I daresay that I can be a bit too observant. But I didn't actually know that I had fallen until one of those ridiculous pickup Quidditch games that the boys are so fond of playing. I used to get so frustrated with the way Ron played, allowing his emotions to bubble so quickly to the service, and at times I thought him a right git, as obnoxious as he could sometimes be. But I remember one day, the twins—devious as always—put of a bit of a jinx on his broom, causing it to move in the opposite direction that Ron wished, you remember that?"

Hermione nodded, trying not to smile at the memory for Luna didn't seem amused.

"And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I got so angry that day! I could feel the anger rising in me, and I'm sure my ears might have taken on Ronald's same reddish hue. I'm not sure what it was, but to see him up there unable to control his broom…I was so afraid, worried, and furious all at once. The feelings nearly knocked me off my feet. I'm not usually prone to anger, but I felt it so strongly that day, and over something so silly, too. And I knew then that I was in love. Only people in love end up doing crazy, irresponsible, and dangerous things without ever doubting their necessity."

Hermione waited for her to go on, but it appeared that Luna's story was finished. She wondered with an eerie feeling if the last of Luna's words was still in reference to her love for Ron. They existed in silence for a few minutes, but when Ron's laughter could be heard in the distance, Hermione sat up in my bed.

"I think I'd like to go home now." But home was not her intention.

Luna fixed her again with her peculiar gaze, but had no chance to reply, as Harry and Ron came around the corner.

Ron was the first to come barreling to Hermione's side, talking loudly, making jokes about what he would have done if she hadn't been okay. Harry hung back, and uncertainty in his eyes, but soon he too was standing by her side.

"It looks like our Hermione is ready to go home." Luna said, and Hermione sighed in relief.

"Oh, well, let me go fetch the doctor," Harry insisted.

It took another half an hour to see the doctor and get the discharge papers finished, and all the while Hermione was impatiently urging time to move faster so that she could get to where she really wanted to be.

"Let me take you home," Harry offered. "I'll stay for a few hours to make sure you're really all right."

"No, Harry, I'm fine. It was nothing serious, really."

This was not going as she had planned. Luna caught the panicked look in her eye, and offered her a solution.

"Why don't we all go to Hermione's?" At first, Hermione blanched, but then Luna continued. "Don't worry dear, we'll leave you _alone _in your room to rest. We'll just be in the sitting room chatting in case you need anything."

Hermione wasn't sure if Luna knew exactly what she was doing, but she would take any help she was offered. When they arrived at her flat, Harry offered to help her into bed, but Luna quickly ushered him away, saying it would be better for a woman to help her. Harry couldn't argue with that, so he and Ron trudged to the kitchen to hunt up some food.

Luna walked Hermione to her bedroom door, but didn't follow as she had expected. Hermione glanced back to see her reaching to close the door.

"I trust you'll be fine on your own?"

Hermione wasn't sure whether Luna was referring to preparing for bed or something else entirely, but either way she gave a curt and honest nod. She decided she couldn't Apparate in case Harry were to hear, so she waited for the door to click before she grabbed her wand out of her bag and flew to the open window. She lived in a Muggle neighborhood, so it would be risky to magically lower herself to the ground. She climbed until she was a reasonable distance from the ground, cast a cushioning charm on a pile of leaves below her, and then jumped. She would definitely have to thank Luna later.

Harry would attempt to check in on her several times within the next few hours, only to be headed off by Luna, offering to do it instead.

Each time Luna would return and say, "She's fine… right where she needs to be."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When Draco had awakened that morning, he'd found himself strapped to a bed, the leather straps perhaps a bit tighter than was necessary, but he made no attempt to free himself. He deserved this and any other punishment they could offer. Despite sedation, his dreams had been filled with nightmarish images of Hermione in pain, made all the more gruesome by their truth.

He'd lain there in bed, feeling his muscles tingling from lack of use, but the slight discomfort was nothing compared to the ache that was brewing deep in his chest. He tried to consciously focus his mind on anything besides Granger, but he slowly began to realize that besides a few sparse memories from his childhood, his only good thoughts consisted of her. Knowing that she would probably never return, he allowed himself to indulge just this once, as a way of saying goodbye, and he gave himself over to his imagination.

He pictured the first time he'd snapped out of the spell, only to see her face. He remembered the look of compassion he'd found there, and the spark of hope it had ignited in his chest. He remembered the way her lips had felt against his, -- wary, but warm and intoxicating. He lost himself in the lines of her face and the gentle slope of her cheekbones. He tried to find a word to describe the sweet, floral smell of her hair, and the amused look in her eyes as they became more comfortable with each other. His mind began to wander to things he had not yet explored, levels they had not yet reached. He imagined what it would be like to kiss her-- not under a spell, and not as a game, but in surrender to the fullness of her lips, to live and breathe solely for her touch.

He pictured a life outside of this ward: reading by a fire, strolling down a beach, simply enjoying her presence, all of this done hand in hand.

He hated himself for denying what had been in front of him for so long.

He knew now in her absence that he, Draco Malfoy, was undeniably and irretrievably in love with Hermione Granger.

And he knew with painful remorse that he would never see her again.

So he allowed himself to dream, embracing images of them together that would never be.

When Hermione burst through the door, her face pale and sweat collected across her brow, he was lying on his bed, still strapped down, with a sad, but content smile on his face.

She breathed a sigh of relief, as if being here had made her whole, and she allowed the door to close with a click.

His eyes snapped open, immediately finding hers. Surprise passed across his angular features, followed by relief, joy, and something to which she could not give a name.

She crossed to him, her heart pounding so forcefully that it sounded like battle drums in her ears. She carefully placed her fingers on the straps holding him down, giving him an apologetic smile that he was sure he didn't deserve.

He said the first thing that floated into his mind.

"I missed you."

A tear welled in her eye, and his arm ached to brush it away. She dropped to her knees beside him, the luscious scent of her hair enveloping him, and she trailed a finger along his jaw.

"I missed you, too."

And then she kissed him.

**A/N: I know, what a cruel place to end it right? But never fear, I won't leave you guys hanging for as long as I have in the past. From now on, the chapters will be a bit shorter, since I'm busy preparing for my trip abroad and I will have less time to write while I'm actually abroad. But don't worry! I plan to keep writing, but we'll have to settle for the chapters being a bit shorter. **

**Happy 2008!**

**Until next time, **

**JKRsunkmyship**


	19. The Calm

**A/N: Well, the days until my trip abroad are disappearing at an alarming rate. I'm not sure if this will be my last update until I arrive and get settled in the Netherlands. I will try to get another out before I leave if I can, but I'm afraid I can't make any promises. Thanks as always to my wonderful beta, eilonwy! **

"_In this world everything changes except good deeds and bad deeds; these follow you as the shadow follows the body."_ – Unknown

Previously: She crossed to him, her heart pounding so forcefully that it sounded like battle drums in her ears. Carefully placing her fingers on the straps holding him down, she gave him an apologetic smile that he was sure he didn't deserve.

He said the first thing that floated into his mind.

"I missed you."

A tear welled in her eye, and his arm ached to brush it away. She dropped to her knees beside him, the luscious scent of her hair enveloping him, and she trailed a finger along his jaw.

"I missed you, too."

And then she kissed him.

**Chapter 19**

_The Calm_

It was unlike any moment they had ever experienced. As their lips met, they both sighed, and it was as though the world finally clicked into its rightful place. It was like the first breath of air after a lifetime of submersion, like the feel of flame to one who has been frozen solid. She shivered against him as their past thawed away, and they were left only with this moment and the moments to come.

It was both bliss and pain, the knowledge that this… this _wholeness _had been here all along; it made her ache with a longing to make up for all the time they had missed. She pulled back to look into his eyes. She needed some substantial proof that this was real, besides the heavy palpitations of her heart and the way she couldn't seem to fill her lungs. She needed to know that she hadn't been the only one to feel as though more than just her lips merged with his. It was nearly excruciating to pull away, to fight the nearly magnetic pull between their bodies.

His eyes were closed, and his face completely relaxed. Her heart clenched, it appeared as though he were asleep. Was her desire for him so strong that she had imagined it all? Was he sedated and thus oblivious to the moment that had just turned her inside out? Her hands shaking, she slowly reached out to brush her fingertip carefully across his cheek. He exhaled heavily, but his eyes did not open. Perching herself carefully on the edge of his bed, her hands slowly memorized his face, tracing his angular jaw, the sharp curve of his chin, the slope of his nose, the pale, purple arcs of exhaustion beneath his eyes. His eyes did not open, and the only acknowledgement she received was the now somewhat labored rise and fall of his chest. Cautiously, she allowed her fingertip to navigate towards the destination she craved. Slowly, she explored the skin directly around his lips, feeling the quick bursts of air from his mouth against her hand.

Hesitantly, with her entire body humming anxiously, nervous energy seeming to push her finger forward, she pressed it lightly to his bottom lip.

She nearly jumped when a deep groan rumbled from his chest. His lips barely moved, and her finger did not stir from its perch as he whispered, "Are you trying to kill me?"

Finally his eyes fluttered open, and she wanted to fall into them, never to resurface. Her own eyes were wide, cautious, unsure of how much of this encounter had been real, and afraid of what to do next.

Silence echoed between them, and her finger upon his lip became heavier by the second. He waited as long as he could, uncertain of the fear and tension etched onto her face, but then he could wait no more.

"Kiss me again," he growled. Then almost desperately, "_Please_."

It took her half a second to realize the significance of the word, "again." And then half a second more, to crush her lips to his. Immediately, his mouth opened to welcome hers and he felt her breath against his tongue, receiving a small taste of her, before her tongue slid against his own.

Their kiss was harsh and needy—the kiss of two people who had wasted too much time already and were unwilling to forfeit anymore. It was lips and tongues and teeth fused together in a dance of regret for the past, and hope for the future. It was not soft or hesitant like her touches a moment before—his teeth bit her lip too hard, but as he sucked it into his mouth, greedily soothing the small wound—muddy blood included—she didn't mind.

He leaned his head as far forward as he could, while restrained to the table, yearning to be closer to her. In response she swung one leg over him, straddling his hips, and then there was as little space between their bodies as their lips.

They broke apart to breathe, and immediately his lips continued along her jaw, sucking and nipping, as she struggled to regain her breath. When his tongue darted out to trace the shell of her ear, she moaned and rocked forcefully against his hips.

He hissed, and his arms reflexively jerked towards her, but the leather restraints kept him from holding and touching her. He groaned; wanting nothing more than to let his fingers follow her blush as it stretched from her cheeks down her neck, until it disappeared beneath her blouse.

Noticing his frustration, her hands immediately flew to his bindings to release him, needing to feel his hands around her.

"No," he gasped.

Her hands stilled, but she couldn't stop her hips from rocking against his once more.

"Hermione," he moaned, and again his hands involuntarily lurched forward.

She took this as permission to continue and she moved again to free him.

"Don't."

Her brain was clouded with desire, and she struggled to understand his commands.

"Draco?" she whispered, her body shaking with want. It took all of her will power to remain still, his warm body beckoning to her.

His eyes were hesitant and worried, but filled with lust. He wanted this as much as she did, so why must she stop?

His eyes flickered to the straps and then back to her face, his expression apologetic.

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmured, his eyes fierce.

His eyes left her face, focusing on her neck, covered in purple bruises in the shape of his hands. Tortured, he longed to soothe the aches he'd given her.

She thought back to her previous encounter with him, and balked at the realization that only a day had passed. How could life change course so definitively in so little time? She bent to run her lips along the palms of his hands, pouring out forgiveness with each kiss, trailing her tongue along the fingers that had nearly taken her life. There was never any doubt as to whether she would forgive him, but for him to forgive himself was an entirely different matter. She switched her attention to his other hand, trying to convince him that she cherished his hands, no matter their deeds

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She returned to his lips, kissing him innocently.

"Don't be. It wasn't _you_."

His jaw tightened.

"You were still hurt because of me."

She could feel the guilt radiating from him.

"Draco, I made a choice. And I'm here." _For better or for worse_, she wanted to say. "The benefits far outweigh the risks."

His lips were set in a straight line. He clearly thought she was being foolish and making the wrong choice, a dangerous choice, but his selfish desire to keep her kept him from protesting. She kissed him lightly, teasing his lips with her tongue, trying to release some of the tension. Lowering her chest to his and pressing the full length of her body against him, she buried her head into the curve of his neck. She lay against him, unhurried, feeling the frantic beating of their hearts beginning to slow. There was still a burning heat in her belly, and it didn't help that her hips were clamped tightly against his, and she wanted nothing more than to feel him moving inside of her, but glancing around the ward, seeing his bound wrists, and smelling the day old sweat still clinging to his body—this was hardly the time or the place.

Something cold and hard was pressing into her sternum, and she tried to shift to ease the twinge of pain, but then she realized what exactly was pushing against her chest. Her mind immediately flew to the bottomless black bag that she'd found hidden in the back of a drawer in Draco's room at Malfoy Manor. She remembered the day she had been searching through it and found a locket, embedded with emeralds surrounded by twisting strands of silver. Ginny had shown up unannounced, and she'd had no choice, but to place the locket around her neck and hide it beneath her blouse. It had been weeks since that day, and she'd had numerous opportunities to take it off, but something had prevented her. And it hung around her neck still, pressed tightly between her body and its rightful owner.

With a spasm of fear, she knew what she had to do. She slowly lifted her body off of Draco's, but remained straddling his hips. His eyes were questioning as she reached to the back of her neck to unclasp the chain. She gently redid the clasp, and then pulled the exquisite locket from beneath her blouse.

His face was hard to read at first—miffed that she had moved so far away, then curious as to her actions. It took a few moments for him to look away from her face long enough to study the necklace dangling from her hand. Then his face was a flicker of fast-changing emotions, which progressed before she could label them, finally setting on relief. The locket swayed several times in the air, and then abruptly his expression turned to shock.

"How did you—where did—"He took an exasperated breath. "How?"

She looked up at him sheepishly. "Well…um…as you probably assumed… the Ministry has taken over the Manor, and Harry was in charge of the search."

His face abruptly turned harsh at the mention of Harry, and she sped up her explanation. "I convinced him to let me look through the library before they started confiscating things, but then I ended up in your room, and I don't know what came over me. I just wanted to know more about you, I guess. So…" She blushed profusely. "I was looking through your drawers… and I saw the false compartment at the back of one drawer, and…well…I found the bag. I still have it. I was… afraid of what the Ministry might have done with it, if they had got it."

His face broke out in devious grin, halting her rambling.

"Looking through my drawers, were you?" He smirked.

Her blush deepened and she nodded. He considered her carefully before nodding. "That's fine, I suppose… that is, as long as I get the same courtesy some day." His grin was positively wicked.

She huffed timidly, but nodded. It was only fair. His laughter eased her embarrassment, and relief bubbled up to the surface. She had feared his reaction, worried that he might be angry for her snooping. She moved to place the locket in his bound hand.

"No, wait," he cautioned. "I want you to keep it."

"Draco… I couldn't." She shook her head.

"More specifically," he added, his eyes smoldering, "I want to put it on you."

She made to protest again, but the intensity of his eyes stopped her, and her hands moved of their own accord to undo his bindings.

"Do you have your wand?" he asked, worry creeping into his tone.

She nodded, retrieving it from her pocket.

His face was grim. "If I should lose_ control…_" he began, "do whatever it takes to stop me."

She nodded, going back to work on the restraints that bound him from bicep to wrist.

"Promise me, Granger."

She released his first hand, and then raised her gaze to him.

"I promise."

A minute later, both his arms were free, and he stretched his hands, rotating his wrists to get back the feeling. She watched him carefully as he observed his own movements.

He sighed, closing his eyes, enjoying his release. Her lips quirked upwards at the corner. She had hated seeing him strapped down-- it had actually physically pained her-- so the release was joyous for her as well.

His eyes opened, the deep gray dark and churning, and a hand came to rest lightly on each of her thighs. A chill ran up her spine, as his hands began moving up her sides, his touch burning and soothing at the same time. He raised his torso, so that they were once again chest to chest, with her legs to the sides of his lap. Her hands immediately tangled themselves in his hair as he bent to place a kiss on her neck.

He stared regretfully at the purple smudges that circled her neck, placing kisses along the bruised lines. He was gentle, not wanting to cause any pain, but wishing he could kiss away the evidence of his weakness. He placed a final kiss on the center of her collar bone and then reached backward for her hands. He took the locket from them, undoing the clasp. She thought she might have seen a small tremor in his hands, but if it was there, he concealed it with ease. His eyes locked with hers as he placed the necklace around her neck, his eyes absolutely scorching as he fastened the chain. His fingers followed the chain around her neck, down to the locket that lay visible directly above the swell of her chest. He covered it with his palm, his long fingers stretching from the base of her neck to the tops of her breasts, and she could feel the cold metal through the fabric of her shirt.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"No," he said, his voice husky, crashing his lips to hers. "Thank you."

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

He wonders why the boy hasn't been to the Ministry in days. It is his job, is it not? Of course it is. He remembers the fury in the boy's eyes as he'd hunted down the Dark Lord's servants like a savage in the days after the war. He remembers the smug satisfaction the boy had had when he'd managed to finally managed to track down the Dark Lord's right-hand man.

He wishes he could have seen Potter's face when news arrived that he, Lucius Malfoy, had escaped the Ministry's clutches once again. He settles for seeing the frustration on the brat's face, day in and day out. It's wearing him down. Each day he appears more haggard, more _desperate._

But in the most recent days, a different kind of desperation has haunted the wizarding world's so-called savior. Three days ago, something changed. He'd rushed to St. Mungo's like a mad man, only to exit late that night with his two sidekicks and the Lovegood wench. Now he barely sleeps. He prowls through the same neighborhood over and over, standing for hours on end facing the same building. And then he follows _her._

He follows her to the grocery store; he follows her to the bank, to the park.

Lucius wonders what the world would think if they knew the leader of the Golden trio was a stalker. He's beginning to think he has more in common with Potter than either of them thought possible.

And so it goes. He watches Potter as Potter watches her.

He waits while Potter waits.

They are waiting now.

Waiting for her.

Waiting outside a building that appears to the human eye as nothing more than an abandoned department store.

But Lucius is tired of waiting.

**A/N: Don't hate me for ending it there! I'll try to have the next chapter out before I leave for Europe (seven days left)! I've recently opened a new livejournal under the name JKRsunkmyship. If you want to keep in touch while I'm abroad, hear how my trip is going, and find out how the story updates are coming along, feel free to add me as a friend!**


	20. Run Its Course

"The course of true love never did run smooth" –William Shakespeare

Chapter Twenty

Run Its Course

Hot breath.

Warm hands.

Close embrace.

She was entirely prepared to remain in this position for the rest of eternity, maybe longer. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rhythmic push and pull of their chests, exhaling as he breathed out and then taking in his newly released breath. His hand painted a searing trail along the narrow strip of skin between her shirt and jeans. Her breathing faltered as the tip of his finger slipped under the waistband of her jeans, feather-light touches stretching from one hip to the other. She buried her face in his neck, stifling a groan.

"That's so unfair," she mumbled.

His deep chuckle echoed in her ears.

"What's unfair about it?"

She sighed, "I can't think when you do that."

He pushed his hips against hers and whispered, "Then I guess it's a good thing that _instinct_ doesn't require much thinking."

She playfully nipped at his collar bone, and he groaned. "Who's unfair now?" His voice was husky as he pulled her even closer by the loops on her jeans.

She merely laughed and leaned further into his embrace. He trailed his lips along the curve of her neck, and then brushed his nose along the line of her jaw, enjoying the fresh, floral scent of her skin. His head lowered further and kissed the exposed skin around the glittering emerald necklace.

"Will you tell me about it?" she asked quietly.

He rested his forehead against hers, the deep grey of his eyes capturing her completely.

"It was my mother's. Her parents gave it to her upon her sorting into Slytherin." He grinned, laying his palm across the necklace, his large fingers splayed across her chest, dangerously close to places that made her heart beat faster.

"Tell me, my Gryffindor, how does it feel to wear a Slytherin token?"

She tried to ignore that way that tiny two-letter possessive pronoun made her heart flip over in her chest. Instead she pulled herself closer to him on the small bed, and slowly draped a leg across his hips.

"It feels almost as good as _this_." She grinned before pressing her lips to his.

She meant the kiss to be light and teasing, but when his tongue trailed along her lower lip, she forgot her intentions. She gave in quickly, allowing his tongue to explore her mouth. He clutched the leg wrapped around his hip and pulled it higher, until it was wrapped around his waist. She broke their kiss, sucking in a greedy breath. His kisses continued down her neck, gradually progressing from gentle pecks until he was sucking roughly on the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

When her lower body was shaking, and her mind was very nearly fogged over, she forced herself to pull away, before she did something she very much wanted to do, but shouldn't. She laid her head against his chest, leaving her leg wrapped tightly around him. She listened to his lungs, working furiously for air, and tried hard not to attack his lips all over again as his hand traced teasingly along her spine.

When she found her breath, she questioned, "Draco?"

His hand ghosted across her hip and he mumbled, "Mmm?"

"May I ask you something?"

He wanted to say, 'Anything,' but he hesitated. There were some things he would rather that she not know. No, that wasn't exactly it. He wanted her to know everything, but he feared what her knowing might mean.

"And what would that be?" he asked.

She waited for a moment, gathering her courage, hoping that she was not going to regret this.

"Could you… would you tell me about the spell? About how it feels?"

The question surprised him. It was remarkable that a few hours alone with this woman had made him completely forget the last few years of his tortured existence.

He took a steadying breath, "It's … _difficult_ to describe," he began. "There's a feeling that comes with it, a pressure, almost like…" He searched for the appropriate word. "Suffocation." The word was barely audible and she winced at the mental pictures that flooded her mind.

"That's why it's so easy to tell when it's gone. For a very long time, I withdrew into my mind, trying to forget that there was something else in me, destroying me from the inside out, almost like a parasite."

Her hand rested on his cheek, her eyes encouraging.

"I hear voices," he admitted with some difficulty. "In the beginning, it was a generic voice, but gradually as the spell conquered more of my mind, the voices changed. First, it was my father."

Hermione tried to hide the look of horror on her face, but she was fairly sure he caught it. Hermione herself had been plagued with unwanted thoughts and dreams of Lucius ever since she learned it was his doing that caused Draco to be locked in this very room.

His face was devoid of emotion as he continued, "I tried to resist and the voices became stronger and more numerous. Sometimes it was Dumbledore or Potter." He couldn't help the sneer that crossed his face. He had even more reason to despise Potter now than he had ever done. Now that he had Hermione, he didn't plan on giving Potter any chance to claim her as his own, not that he could do much in this room anyway.

"Sometimes my mother, her too." His eyes were downcast, and her arms tightened around him.

He was quiet for a moment, but then continued the barest hint of a smirk on his face. "I was even graced with your voice on a few occasions. The first time the spell dropped, and I heard your voice, I was sure that it was some trick, that the spell had evolved. I never would have admitted it then, but I was so relieved when you were real."

He broke off, his jaw clenched, but his eyes soft. "Forgive me? For dragging you into this?"

She regarded him for a moment, unsure of how to react, but finally settling on a warning glare. His eyes were looking everywhere but at her own. Frustrated, she pushed her lips against his, perhaps a little harder than necessary, but it got his attention as she'd hoped.

"I will accept no apologies, Draco, because there is absolutely _nothing_ to forgive, except perhaps your rather insufferable behavior in the beginning."

His expression remained skeptical.

"Draco. I'm telling you, there is nowhere else I'd rather be. In fact, I'm sorry that I didn't find you sooner."

He actually gave a small smile.

"I believe that is something that we can definitely agree upon. And you know I can't help being insufferable."

She laughed. "You're right. I would have been worried if you'd acted any other way."

He shook his head, smiling. "Of all the things you've seen in this room, that's what would have worried you?"

She merely laughed it off and kissed him, unwilling to admit that she worried about him all the time, very nearly nonstop. He gazed at her for an immeasurable period of time, his eyes memorizing the gentle curves of her face, even though he knew them by heart already.

"You know you are surprisingly hard to resist, always were, even when you were just a voice in my head."

"But you did resist? The spell?" She prompted.

There was an inkling of pride in her eyes that he knew he didn't deserve.

"Not for long after that. The next voice was my breaking point. The things that he told me… that the spell told me in my mentor's voice," he corrected, "They made me realize finally what I'd somewhat known all along. That I deserved this."

She opened her mouth to protest, but his finger on her lips stopped her.

"It was painful, more painful than you can imagine to hear his voice… to hear Severus… to _know_ that I had failed him."

She tried to speak around his finger, but again he cut her off.

"I know, Granger! I know that _you _think I'm good or noble or have redeemed myself, or whatever crazy thoughts run around in that head, and for that, I thank you. But you asked about the spell, about my story, and this is part of that, a part that I can't change."

Her expression remained rebellious, but she nodded.

He took a breath before returning to his tale, "So that's when I gave up. I retreated into my mind and hid away, letting the spell have all of me. I'm not sure how much time passed then, but eventually a day came where I felt light—lighter than I had in years. And I could _breathe_. I knew by instinct that the spell was gone, and I awoke to find you."

His eyes settled on her and it appeared that his story was finished.

"Is that all?"

He stopped, and his eyes became fierce, his entire being saturated with guilt and self-loathing.

"It _was_, until this week. This week was… different. I mean, the spell has always had some control over my actions, but usually only when I completely lose control. It was like the more I wanted it to stop, the more it continued. I tried so hard to loosen my hand, so hard, but it only tightened. You can't imagine, looking into your eyes and seeing the reflection of my own… dead, entirely lifeless." His words grew to a whisper and then dissipated completely.

"I'm sorry." She'd never heard those words sound so sincere. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. I can't… I—"

It was her turn to cover his mouth. "Are you done?" she asked impatiently.

He glared and severely shook his head.

She shrugged. "No matter. It's my turn. I listened to your story… and I tried, and I think I understand the emotions you experienced and why you believe certain things about yourself. But as far as I am concerned, your apologies are not needed. You were always forgiven, and you always will be. "

She glanced around at the thick, padded, white walls, her voice mournful and full of determination. "I'm going to fix this, and when we get out of this room, you're quite welcome to make it up to me for as long as you'd like."

She waited a moment before removing her hand, and then he smirked.

"Multiple times?"

She scoffed. "Well, I certainly wasn't going to settle for just once!"

His hands gripped her arse, pulling her hips tightly against his own.

"Perhaps we should get started now?" He rolled his hips, and her breath caught in her throat. She glanced at her watch, extremely tempted, but groaned when she saw the time.

"I have to go."

His arms involuntarily tightened around her.

"I don't want to leave," she clarified. "Merlin, I'd rather do anything besides leave, but the nurses will be making their morning rounds soon."

"Come back to me?" he asked.

"I'll have to if you're ever going to make it up to me." She grinned, but then became more serious. "I'll always come back, Draco."

He lay down flat on his back and slipped his hands back into his restraints, waiting for Hermione to tighten them.

"And I'll be right here, waiting."

∞∞∞

She had stayed at St. Mungo's so long that Harry nearly believed he'd missed her. Near five o' clock in the morning, he spied a petite figure fleeing into the early morning darkness. He watched her from a distance, Apparating just a moment before she did. He reappeared about a hundred meters from her apartment, watching as she materialized in the dark alley around the corner, and then walked slowly to her door. Even from such a distance, he could see a broad smile stretching across her face, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. Eyes closed and smile still in place, she leaned back against the front door, her hand placed lightly over her heart. She stayed there, standing curiously on her porch, until a faint lightening began in the sky.

She seemed happy, more carefree than he had ever seen her, especially considering she had been hospitalized less than twenty-four hours earlier. Harry briefly noted that her behavior was extremely peculiar, but when the sun peeked over the horizon, casting a glow on her face, he was distracted. He had to restrain himself from rushing to her and wrapping her up in his arms. He would only scare her off with behavior like that. He needed to prove himself to her—win her over. He smiled, elaborate plans beginning to take shape in his mind.

Finally, her eyes opened, and she seemed surprised that the sun had already begun its ascent. Harry waited for a few moments after she disappeared into her building, before disappearing himself.

And so his plan, just one of many plans to be hatched in that early light of day, was set in motion. And the wheels of fate would move, swift and stern, their progress unstoppable.

A/N: Sorry it's been a while guys. I've been incredibly busy, travelling everywhere from London to Switzerland to Germany! If you want to hear about my trip, or about updates, or my life in general, feel free to friend me on LiveJournal, my name is JKRsunkmyship. A huge thanks goes out to my beta, Eilonwy, who did a marvelous job, even though she was feeling under the weather!

Otherwise, the next chapter is huge, guys… BIG things are happening! Yay!

P.S. I like reviews.


	21. Invading Darkness

**Moments of Sanity**

_Invading Darkness_

_Chapter Twenty One_

_"In some inland post feel the savagery, the utter savagery, had closed round him--all that mysterious life of the wilderness that stirs in the forest, in the jungles, in the hearts of wild men. There's no initiation either into such mysteries. He has to live in the midst of the incomprehensible, which is detestable. And it has a fascination, too, which goes to work upon him. The fascination of the abomination--you know. Imagine the growing regrets, the longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate."_ - Joseph Conrad

Her heart felt light as she swept through the rooms of her flat, stopping first her bedroom. She moved to her dresser, opening the second drawer and removing the familiar, bottomless black bag she had retrieved all those weeks ago from a hidden compartment in Malfoy Manor.

Her heartbeat quickened as she seated herself on the bed, anxious and afraid to explore this further. She lifted her bag, taking out the books she'd found in the Malfoy Library. They seemed too heavy in her hands, as though the weight of her whole life were held in their pages. She opened to the familiar page in _Malfoy Family Punishment Curses_, her eyes recognizing the spell that had been filling her mind—both in the waking and sleeping hours—for days now.

The words were haunting, both in their original form and her translation.

"I take you," she whispered quietly, "Memory, thought, mind—no longer for you to command."

Well, that seemed simply enough. The spell obviously worked on a completely mental level.

_Change you, break you, possess you._

She shuddered at the words, remembering the first day she'd seen Draco. He truly had been broken. But she also knew instinctively that Draco had slowly begun to regain most of what he'd lost to the spell… slowly taking back control of himself. But she doubted that he could keep going this way. She doubted the spell could be defeated by will power alone.

_Magic consumes you and conquers you._

She remembered that in the beginning he'd said the spell was more generic, slowly evolving over time, formatting itself to his mind, and using his own memories against him.

_You become the prey until insanity or death._

The word 'prey' caught in her chest. The word struck her as bizarre. Prey—it painted the magic as a living, breathing predator, though it did fit with the previous line—the consuming of the mind by magic. But it had connotations of feeding, as if Draco's memories were the life source for the parasitic spell—what enabled it to change, grow, and then manipulate his mind.

A floorboard creaked, but she didn't acknowledge it, her mind too focused on the inner workings of the spell. She wracked her brain for a possible solution, but nothing came.

"There has to be something," she said aloud to herself. She wondered for a moment. What would be the effect of the death of the castor on the spell itself?

"Could it be that simple?" she speculated. "Kill Lucius and it all ends?"

The floorboard creaked again, and this time she didn't miss it. A shiver ran down her spine, the small hairs prickling on the back of her neck. Her hand jutted out, reaching for her wand on the bedside table, but she was too late. A large hand buried itself in her curls and wrenched her backward. She screamed as she tumbled backward off the bed, her hip hitting the ground at an odd angle. A hand closed around her throat, stopping her.

She was pulled to her feet by her hair, and she bit through her lip, trying to quell her terror. A body pressed against her back and she shuddered, hearing the distinctly male groan behind her. She felt the blood from her lip running down her chin, and she lashed her arms out, trying to injure her attacker, but he immediately clamped her arms at her sides. He laughed—deep and bark-like, and she recognized the laugh almost as well as she could recognize her own.

Her struggles became more desperate.

"Don't," she whispered, the hand on her neck too constricting. "Please, no."

His voice was right by her ear, his tone sinister, sending shivers down her spine. "Begging already, pet?"

She tried to reply, but before she could open her mouth, he pushed her sideways. She crumpled onto the floor again, gasping for breath, her hands immediately reaching for her throat.

"What is this?" he hissed, reaching forward to grab a book off her bed.

At the sight of the book, her heart plummeted in her chest.

"What are _you_ doing with something belonging to the Malfoys?" His voice was cutting, and he stepped on her ankle, pushing down heavily when she didn't answer.

He bent and his hand again found its way to her throat, his hold tight and unforgiving. Tears trailed from her eyes and he smiled wickedly in response. He pulled her up again, this time by her neck, his fingernails digging into her soft flesh. Her upper back hit the bed, the rest of her body hanging awkwardly over the edge, her legs surprisingly weak beneath her.

She heard the crumpling of paper, and looked up to see him rifling through her notes with one hand. She knew the moment that his eyes found Draco's named scribbled into the margins.

An animalistic roar tore from his chest, and he threw her backwards. Her neck snapped backwards, the back of her head colliding harshly with the wall. She couldn't help the whimper that escaped her as he came to tower over her, the lines of his face dark with fury.

The pages of her notes were crumpled in his fists as he loomed above her.

"So." His voice was hard and cold. "_Healer Granger_" --he emphasized her professional name-- "seems to have a new patient."

The sneer on his face was unnatural. "That explains why you've spent so many hours locked away in St. Mungo's. And here, I foolishly thought that you were merely a determined worker."

Hermione gasped. "You've been following me?"

She thought hard, scanning her memory for any sign of him.

He laughed cruelly. "You'd think after all those years at war you would be a little more observant."

"However, I am confused at something you said. 'Kill Lucius and it all ends?' What ends?" The laugh that escaped him then was dark and nearly inhuman.

She threw herself towards the bed, and her hand came within inches of her wand before a swift kick connected with her stomach. The air rushed from her and he took hold of her hair once more. He pulled back quickly, and she felt some of her hair rip painfully from her scalp. There was a throbbing pain in her side, and she wondered if one of her ribs had been broken. Her body wanted to scream for mercy, but she wouldn't, not from _him. _

_Not from Lucius Malfoy._

Instead, she ground out, "Bastard." She tried to kick out at him, but only succeeded in exhausting herself further. He laughed harshly, tracing a dirtied hand along her jaw, as though marking her for what she was… what her blood was. She flinched back, and spat in his face.

She expected another roar or brutal blow, but it never came. He merely wiped the spit from his face, deranged grin darkened the planes of his face, like storm clouds casting shadows across miles of earth.

"I believe that the time has arrived for me to end Draco's existence, as I should have done all those years ago."

Her heart swelled in her chest, each pump seeming too slow, too futile.

"Why?" she asked. She was aiming to sound casual, but her desperation seeped through every crack.

"Why what, you filthy whore? Why am I here?" His maniacal laughter was overpowering, and she wondered how something so seemingly innocent as a laugh could make her blood stop so abruptly in her veins, as if wishing to change directions.

He tugged again on her hair, and it somehow hurt more, the tender skin of her scalp burning in protest.

"I thought that would have been obvious. I'm here to make you _suffer._" The word is said with intense reverence, and it continued to reverberate in her mind for minutes afterward.

"No," she whispered, her throat unnaturally dry. "I mean why do you hate your own son?"

Lucius's face changed drastically and quickly like the falling of night in a mere instant. His expression was positively deadly.

"That _thing_ is not my son!" he protested vehemently. "I'm surprised the weakling is even alive. Tell me, what's it like to see him mad? I can almost picture it now."

Something flames to life inside her, warming her cold and fatigued limbs.

"Then you'll be sorry to know that Draco is doing quite well… quite _sane_ actually."

She watched the confusion spread across his face, turning then into disbelief.

"You lie," he hissed. "Mudblood."

"I don't," she replied with more confidence than she felt, search surreptitiously around her room for anything that might aid her in a fight. "I know all about your little spell, Lucius. Draco told me. He's told me many things. It appears that your spell is failing."

She partly told the truth for the spell had worn off for some lengths of time, but then of course it came back with vengeance.

"Impossible!" he cried, tightening his grip on her hair.

"No, it's not. Your spell is still present, sometimes. But there are times when it disappears completely, for days even. We're close to breaking the curse completely."

He looked down furiously, his nails digging excruciatingly into the back of her tender head. But then a smirk crossed his face, catching her off guard.

"You mean to say that _you_ are close to breaking the spell. You are the only one who knows aren't you, Mudblood?"

She tried to compose her expression, but his laughter told her she had failed.

"Meaning that if should I follow through with my intentions this day, the fate of the man I once called my son will again be buried in silence."

The room went quiet, and she too felt buried, suffocating in the silence.

"And you thought you were close? You thought that by killing me you might break the curse?"

His broken smile was haunting, rocking the very foundation of all her previous theories.

His foot dug sadistically into the soft flesh of her stomach, pushing her into the floor. He turned his wand, mockingly holding the handle just out of her reach.

"Do it, little girl. You think my death will solve Draco's problems? Then do it!" There was so much confidence in his voice, too much confidence. She wavered.

"You've not done your research, Mudblood." He kicked her again, and she was certain now that she had at least a few broken ribs.

His wand was pointed at her once more, and he hissed, "Legilimens!"

Images whirled through her mind though she tried to keep them at bay. He examined first her Muggle childhood, and she could feel his disdain. He explored her years at Hogwarts, lingering on memories of Harry and the war. She felt the tears blazing new trails on her cheeks as image after image of perished loved ones were brought to the forefront of her mind. And then came Draco.

Draco in a clearly mad state.

Draco choking her.

Draco kissing her.

Draco. Draco. _Draco._

Broken. Insane. _In love._

"Stop!" she screamed, every part of her body twisting in protest. She pushed him from her mind, but the damage was done. His hand connected with her cheek, and explosive pain radiated from the connecting point.

"You bitch!" He growled. "You've ruined him!"

"No!" she gasped against the tears pricking at her eyes. "You ruined him. I _fixed_ him."

He paced frantically above her, his hand running over his face in frustration again and again. If she hadn't been positive before, she knew now… he was completely mad.

"He'll never be free from it," he muttered. "Never free from me." He moved so quickly that she lost it in a blink, and suddenly his hand was clamped around her throat again. "The spell grows stronger still. He nearly killed you." He laughed, "Oh how wonderful a turn that would have been. The spell will always make him hate you, filth, regardless how much the fool thinks he loves you. He _will_ lose all control, and the spell will always act contrary to his desires. Sorry Mudblood, but he _can't _be fixed."

There were black spots on her vision and her lungs burned in her chest. There was a cool trickling sensation down the back of her head and neck.

She was bleeding.

"Does it bother you?" She gave a small smile. "That despite the spell, Draco is still more sane than you are?"

He slapped her hard, her face turning from the force of the impact.

"It's time I finished what my son started," he leered, leaning down and kissing her with bruising force.

She screamed against his mouth and tried to turn her head away, but his fingers on her throat squeezed tighter.

"You've ruined him, and I'll ruin you for him just the same."

She heard the rip before she felt the cool air across the now bare skin of her stomach. There was another rip and she winced when one hand grabbed her breast roughly.

"This is what you're good for," he grunted.

She tried to kick her legs at him, but he trapped them beneath his own. His hand raked down her stomach, his nails digging into her skin and she yelled, the involuntary sobs stopping her from making any coherent speech. He captured both her wrists above her head, pushing his body against hers lewdly. His face came close to hers, and she snapped her teeth trying to bite at him. He slammed her hands against the ground in response, and she heard the heavy crack of bone before she felt the stab of pain.

His lips were at her neck, kissing and biting roughly, and she wished for the darkness at the edges of her vision to take her. She felt a cold hand against her inner thigh, and she thrashed again with renewed vigor. The tears were clouding her vision, and took a deep breath for screaming as loud as she could. His elbow pushed against her throat, cutting off her scream and her supply of air. He gripped the edge of her underwear and her entire body contorted, making it as difficult as possible for him to keep his hold on her. His fist struck her face, and her head ricocheted off the hard ground. She coughed and tasted the coppery presence of blood in her mouth.

And then in an instant, the pressure of his body on hers was removed, and she could breathe again.

She opened her eyes to see Lucius held magically against the wall, his arms and legs spread wide. A strong pulse of magic filled the room and out of the corner of her eye she saw him.

He held no wand in his outstretched hands, but the air around him crackled with wild magic. He did not look at her. His eyes were locked on Lucius, his fingers taut, and she realized that Lucius's face had gone nearly purple.

Her vision faltered, but she fought to maintain consciousness.

"It's your fault, Potter," Lucius sneered, his voice raspy from lack of air. "You led me right to her."

Another wave of magic exploded from Harry's hand, sending Lucius crashing back against the wall. The older man turned to her then, his eyes wild with fury, fear, and desperation.

"Your hero's no better than I. I followed him all this time, as he followed you." He turned back to Harry. "There is a darkness in you, Potter. Admit it, it's taking over."

Harry yelled, balling his fists tight, causing Lucius's body to twist and contort unnaturally. Harry controlled him like a rubber band, pulling and stretching, waiting for the eventual snap.

The blackness danced around the brink of her vision, and she groaned.

She heard Lucius scream in agony, and the sound echoed in her ears.

"Harry," she whispered. Her eyes now detected little more than a small circle of light in the invading black.  
"I'm here, Hermione," he yelled, his voice still far away, and Lucius's groans of pain growing still louder.

"If I die, Granger," Lucius choked out. "If I die, the spell become permanent. _Irreversible._"

She felt another pulse of magic, and he screamed. His scream masked her small cry—a cry that had nothing to do with physical pain.

"Harry, stop…" she begged. Her stomach churned, and she emptied its contents on the floor beside her. "It hurts. Harry, please stop."

And then the pain disappeared with the screaming, as the final fragment of her vision vanished into the black nothingness.

**A/N: I know it's a horrible cliffhanger guys, and I apologize. I'm currently on my way from Spain to Italy, and will probably be somewhere in Italy when I get the chance to post this. After a short stay in Italy, I'll be heading to Greece, then back to the Netherlands, and finally back home to the U.S. So this may be the last update for little while. BUT… the good news is… the long train rides give me plenty of time to write, so when I finish the month, I should have a lot written, and will be able to post very quickly upon my return!**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Like I promised, big things happened… and more big things are to come! There are about five or so chapters left in this fic, depending on how much I ramble. I would like to thank my beta Eilonwy, who has worked wonders with this fic, and has stuck with me for a very long time now!**

**Much love! Reviews are, as always, appreciated!**


	22. A Matter of Time

**Moments of Sanity**

Chapter Twenty-Two

_A Matter of Time_

Unconsciousness was bliss.

Bliss that she was pulled from all too soon. She felt magic course through her, and knew that she had been magically revived. Her body ached and her mind swam with broken images that she couldn't piece together. She heard voices around her, and she wanted to close herself off, hide from the world. But something remained niggling at her subconscious, refusing to allow her to drift back into the realm of sleep unhindered by time or emotion.

"Hermione, dearest." The voice was undoubtedly belonging to Mrs. Weasley. And she yearned to bury herself in the woman's arms, and retrieve all the comfort the Weasley matriarch had to offer.

"Wake up, honey."

She opened her eyes, the bright lights causing a stabbing headache to develop just above her eyebrows. She squeezed her eyes shut again, hoping to dispel the pain, but the damage was done. She felt a cool cloth being placed on her forehead, and the sensation was wonderful.

She heard Mrs. Weasley tutting to what was probably a room full of redheads, "Look at the poor thing. She can barely move. If Harry hadn't shown up when he did…" she trailed off ominously.

The floodgates opened, memories, emotions, and pain weaving together to form the picture of the previous happenings, of her attack. She felt the bile rise in her throat, and swallowed it back. But the foul taste remained on her tongue.

And then Mrs. Weasley's last sentence caught up with her.

_Harry._

Her eyes flew open, the shock of the light nothing compared to the wave of panic that ripped through her. She groaned. Harry wasn't here.

"Where?" She asked. Her voice was raspy, and her throat too dry.

Ron quickly offered her the end of a white straw protruding from a small plastic cup. She drank quickly, more out of need than want.

Then she tried again. "Harry?"

"Oh dear. He should be here at any time. He's been so busy the last few days, I don't think he's slept at all. He's always either at your side or at the Ministry."

Hermione's face paled.

The Ministry.

Lucius had been captured, and of course, Harry would see to his trial and execution immediately. What if Lucius had been telling the truth. Could she be too late? Could the spell already have a permanent hold over Draco?

Mrs. Weasley continued, "Took four days to try Lucius Malfoy. There was so much evidence to go through, so many testimonies."

Four days? Had she been out that long.

"They've declared him guilty, you'll be happy to know. Still haven't done the sentencing though. Harry wanted you awake first, I think."

She felt tears prick at her eyelids. There was still time. But time for what? She couldn't delay Lucius's inevitable execution forever, and what solution was there? But she'd take any time she could have, enough time for a kiss, enough time to hold him while he still knew her name.

At that moment, the knob rattled and the door creaked open. Harry stepped inside, looking weary, and almost as though the war had ended the day before instead of years ago. Her heart sped up involuntarily and she gripped the sheets tightly in her fists. She remembered the way he'd thrown Lucius against the wall, a former Death Eater like little more than a rag doll under his control.

He didn't look at her. He whispered something first to Ron, who clapped an encouraging hand on his shoulder. Then he informed Molly of something. He looked towards her then, but not directly at her.

"How are you feeling?"

She had difficulty making her mouth work when all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and hide beneath her covers.

"Fine," she whispered.

He looked different. He wasn't quite as intimidating as he had been over the last few weeks, but he wasn't quite himself either, as though trapped in a limbo between the darker and lighter sides of his own self.

She noticed that the rest of the family had moved into a corner across the room, attempting to give them some privacy, as much privacy as a family that large could give.

He looked at her then, his deep green eyes haunted with both pain and anger.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked again.

She tried not to let her gaze waver, not to show her fear. He held himself stiffly, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, and she heard the question that he didn't ask. She noticed the Weasleys beginning to file out of the room, Molly giving her a quick smile and mouthing that they'd just be waiting outside. She waited until the last redhead disappeared from view before speaking.

"I'm not under any spell, Harry, if that's what you want to know."

He slumped slightly, looking as though she'd just granted him the thing that he both longed and loathed to hear. She wondered idly for a moment if she should have lied to provide a bit more time, but quickly decided that the truth was for the best. If they thought her under a dark spell by one of the last roaming Death Eaters, it would be nigh impossible to escape from her room long enough to make her way to the Permanent Ward.

"So it's true then?"

She didn't understand his question, scanning her memory for some hint.

"There is a spell?" he asked.

And she remembered. Before Lucius had attacked her, she had retrieved her notes, the books from Malfoy Manor, and Draco's bottomless black bag. All three were left out in the open, spread haphazardly on her bed, which meant all three would have been privy to Harry's perusal.

She considered lying, but found that she couldn't. So she nodded.

"All this time?" he asked, "All that time at the hospital… it was all with _him_?" The venom in his voice made her recoil, sinking further into the mattress beneath her.

"Harry, it's not what you think." She replied, "He's different now."

He held his hand up sharply, silencing her.

"I can't believe you would do this to me, 'Mione. That you would betray me like this."

Her face paled, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't do that!" He raised his voice, and then seemed to remember, shrinking back into himself, and it reminded her of the heavy settling of volcanic ash that lasted for days after an eruption. The real Harry, the Harry she knew, seemed buried under the remnants of the rage that had possessed him of late. He returned to a whisper. "Don't play dumb with me, Hermione. I examined Lucius's memories of the attack myself. I saw the things he saw when he used Legilimency on you. I saw you kiss Draco Malfoy."

She had no reply, but she refused to be ashamed. She kept her chin up, and met his gaze with determination, noting with confusion that Harry looked nearly as pale as she felt. His expression was one of resignation and sorrow that seemed to seep from every pore. But she couldn't pity him now; she didn't have any pity to spare.

He waited for her to say something, to deny it, but when she didn't, his face hardened into stone. She felt her features take on a similar mask, determinedly unaffected and unyielding. He stared at her for a moment longer, all traces of warmth gone from his gaze, before turning towards the door.

"The Kiss is scheduled to take place in two hours. I'll relay your inability to attend to the Ministry. Your testimony was not needed to condemn Malfoy, but they'll be wanting to ask you some questions, regardless."

She didn't see his hand move, but suddenly the door was swung open a little too forcefully and it rebounded off the wall, the hinges groaning at the movement, and he was gone. The door swung shut, sealing her inside with nothing but silence for comfort. She blinked and her resolve crumbled. A strangled howl forced its way from her mouth, and her ribs ached as her body shook with great rasping sobs. She tried to draw in a breath, but it was as though her lungs refused to cooperate. Her chest rose and fell with the familiar action, but there was no relief, no satisfying the burning in her chest.

She felt a hand close around hers, and she looked up to see Luna hovering beside her, her stomach protruding slightly from pregnancy and her hands looked a bit swollen. She glanced around in fear, wondering how she would explain her reaction to the rest of the Weasleys, but they were alone. She looked back into Luna's wide, blue eyes, and the first tear fell. Luna was quick to wipe it away, and with an agility Hermione wouldn't have thought possible by a woman with child, Luna maneuvered herself onto the bed, wrapping her arms around Hermione in a soothing hug.

Luna whispered something in her ear, but Hermione couldn't hear her over her own weeping. She whispered it a few more time before Hermione comprehended her words.

"What can I do?"

She looked at Luna through tear-clouded eyes, unsure if the woman knew exactly what she was offering. Hermione glanced briefly at the door and Luna seemed to understand.

"Where do you need to go? Can I take you anywhere?"

Relief flooded her so strongly that it was nearly palpable, and Hermione didn't waste another moment.

"I need to get to the Permanent Ward. No one can know or follow, not even Ron."

There was no hesitation on Luna's part as she quickly retrieved the wheel chair from the corner of the room, and with the flick of her wand, levitated Hermione from the bed into the chair.

Hermione resisted the desire in her chest to demand they hurry. Luna was going as fast as she could, and now was not the time to be ungrateful.

"What will you tell them?" Hermione asked fearfully.

"Don't you worry about that, Hermione. I'll take care of it. You haven't got much time, I suggest you use it to think of what you're going to say."

Hermione couldn't… wouldn't take the time to decipher Luna's words or ponder how much her bizarre friend knew about her situation because she was right. There was so very little time. What could she possibly say to him?

There were three words that neither of them had spoken as of yet. But suddenly those three words that before had seemed so intimidating couldn't quite cover what she needed to tell him. It wasn't enough that she loved him.

"Gods, I love him," she whispered in disbelief. The tears filled her eyes. "Luna, I love him."

This wasn't fair. She _loved_ him and she only had two hours left with him before… before_ something _happened.

"I know, honey." Her voice was quiet, and she allowed Hermione a moment before she opened the door.

The Weasleys were all there waiting with looks ranging from pity to confusion.

"I'm just going to take Hermione for a walk. I think she's been cooped up in that room long enough," Luna explained.

"Here," Ron moved forward. "I'll go with you."

"It's fine, Ronald. I wanted to talk to Hermione about the pregnancy so far, and you wouldn't want to hear about all that girl stuff. You've already had to experience it first hand."

There was a slight edge to her voice, and Ron immediately backed away. It appeared as though he'd been on the receiving end of more than one hormonal mood swing, and wasn't looking to endure another.

"That's--that's great, love. Just don't be too long."

Luna only smiled in response before lazily pushing Hermione's wheelchair down the hall. As soon as they rounded the corner, Luna's pace quickened. She was bent over at a slightly awkward angle to prevent her stomach from hitting the back of the wheelchair, but it didn't seem to deter her movement. They were in the elevator faster than Hermione would have thought possible.

The lift wouldn't move fast enough. And Hermione's heart seemed to swell in her chest as the seconds ticked away. She couldn't help but think of all the time they'd wasted. She'd spent hours upon hours in Draco's company doing absolutely nothing of consequence, and now she had a mere two hours to cram in what should have been a lifetime of interaction.

There would be nothing for them beyond those two hours—no wedding, no home, no future.

The _ding_ of the elevator roused her from her thoughts, as they exited onto the fourth floor.

"Wait." Hermione said, "How did you know where to go?"

Luna only shrugged her off. "Janus Thickey Ward, right? Long-term patients?"

Hermione could only nod. Luna's knowledge was confusing, but she couldn't dwell on it, because she could see the ward at the end of the hallway. Luna covered the ground quickly, and it was time, they were here.

"Stop." Hermione said. "Stop here."

Luna stopped the wheelchair in the middle of the hallway, the door to Draco's ward standing on her left. She couldn't go in there like this. She didn't know how he would react to seeing her wheeled into his room, and she didn't want him to see her like this. She braced herself on the arms of the chair, pushing upwards with all of her strength. She winced, the formerly broken bones in her hand and wrist still slightly tender. Luna moved around to the side, helping her up. Hermione sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the pain in her side. She could do this. What was a little physical pain compared to what she was about to experience?

She took a step forward, and Luna moved to follow, but Hermione waved her off. She needed to do this alone. If these were to be their last moments together, she would make them as wonderful as possible. She would need the good memories if she was to go the rest of her life without him.

She had a little less than two hours now. And in that time, her eyes would be only for him, she would breathe because he breathed, and her heart would beat solely because his did as well. Time belonged only to them. It was theirs to do with as they wished. For somehow, knowing that their time was finite in nature seemed to make the possibilities of the moment all the more infinite.

_For everything there is a season,  
And a time for every matter under heaven:  
A time to be born, and a time to die;  
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;  
A time to kill, and a time to heal;  
A time to break down, and a time to build up;  
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;  
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;  
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;  
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;  
A time to seek, and a time to lose;  
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;  
A time to tear, and a time to sew;  
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;  
A time to love, and a time to hate,  
A time for war, and a time for peace._

_Ecclesiastes 3:1-8_

**A/N: I had intended this chapter to be much longer, but unfortunately, I'm rather swamped at the moment finishing up my independent studies, so I was left with two choices. I could wait until I'd finished my two research papers to finish the chapter and then update, which could take anywhere from one to two weeks, or I could cut this chapter in half and update now so that you lovely people didn't have to wait. I hope I made the right decision. :)**

**Unless, I decide to split the very last chapter in to two parts as I did for this one, there are only two chapters left in this story. This story has been with me nearly from the beginning, the earliest draft having been started in 2004. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel and it is both exciting and petrifying. I hope that you all have enjoyed the journey as much as I. **

**Now, I'll try to stave off the inevitable emotions until the last chapter, but I do want to sincerely thank all my reviewers, some of which have been around so long that they can remember that first draft in 2004! And I must offer my sincerest gratitude to Eilonwy, my marvelous beta, who has bettered this story more than I can say. What I can say though with complete honesty is that I never would have gotten to the end of this story without your help, so I thank you. **

**Love you all! Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated! (And will be greatly missed when this story has reached its end.) **


	23. Hands of Time

**A/N: This chapter was difficult to write. It's one of those moments that has been in my head for so very long that I was slightly anxious about doing it justice. Hopefully I did. Either one or two more chapters after this, depends on if I can fit it all in. I'll have the final chapter out as soon as I can!**

**WARNING: There is mature content in this chapter. You have been warned. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own J.K.R.'s plot or characters. They are simply on loan for the moment. **

**Moments of Sanity**

**Chapter 23: **_The Hands of Time_

"_Love vanquishes time. To lovers, a moment can be eternity, eternity can be the tick of a clock." –Mary Parrish_

The door knob was cold beneath her fingertips—a jolting, unbearable kind of cold. The future had always seemed so far away, so intangible. And now everything she wanted for a future was on the other side of this door with only the cold handle in her way. There was a clock a few paces away, sticking out perpendicular to the wall. The ticking noise sounded as though it were blaring in her eyes, and she could feel it pulsating in her chest as though it were a part of her.

Hermione turned back to Luna, already feeling haunted with the ghosts of a regretful past.

"Could you… could you warn me when I have five minutes? Um, five minutes until the Dementor's Kiss?"

Luna only nodded.

Hermione was thankful that she had asked for no explanations. Her fingers felt stiff and cramped from holding on too tightly. Before she could change her mind, she pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in tune with the ticking of the clock. She stared ahead at the white, padded walls, afraid to look anywhere else.

She waited for him to speak first, listening for that familiar drawl, but he didn't speak. Her body shuddered, whether from the sorrow or anticipation she could no longer tell. She felt so very afraid. Where was the Gryffindor spirit in her now? Where was Draco Malfoy's Gryffindor?

That thought spurred her into action. These last moments were as much his as they were hers. She had to be brave. She owed it to him.

She turned her head to the left, seeing him strapped to the bed just as she had left him. His body was shaking slightly, more like a vibration, and he was tossing his head back and forth as though in the throes of a nightmare.

She moved as quickly as she could to his side, her joints aching. She inhaled deeply, prepared to wake him gently from his slumber, but his eyes were wide open and hauntingly hollow. There was no life in his eyes, only the dominating presence of the spell.

She glanced at her watch. Was she too late? Had they moved up the time of the Kiss? Could she have wasted precious time standing in the hallway acting like a fearful child? The waves of regrets just kept rising, threatening to drown her in their tide.

"No!" she cried, pushing her hands against his chest. "No! It's not fair!"

As though in response to her voice, his body lurched forcefully—his jaw and fists clenched, his muscles tightened, every part of his body straining towards her. A snarl fell from his lips, and she remembered the moment when she'd been held against the wall in this very room with his pale long fingers at her throat. Under the spell, his body hated her and would harm her if given the chance.

But suddenly the spell was nothing to fear. If pain or death were the worst it could bring to her, then she was willing and prepared to face it.

His limbs were pulling sharply against his bindings, straining for freedom. And his eyes were so cold and dead. It wasn't fair. As if two hours were not already insufficient enough time, now she might be left with nothing. His hands wanted nothing more than to hurt her, and she wanted nothing more than to hold him. She laid her head against his abdomen, his muscles rippling beneath her because of his movement, and she cried. She cried for the future they couldn't have, and the one he had no choice but to endure.

She'd spent so much of her life preparing for something, always focused, whether it was the OWLs, NEWTs, the war, or her job. It was all just preparation for something that she felt was coming. It was as though she had been waiting to live. It was as though she'd spent all these years asleep, waiting to wake up for something worthwhile. And now that she'd found it, time was lost to her.

There was a groan and then a quiet, "Granger?"

She gasped, lifting her head from his stomach. She couldn't speak, and she couldn't control the tears that were now trailing steadily from her eyes.

"Why are you crying? And what in the name of Merlin happened to you?"

She watched his eyes do a sweep of her body, taking in her more obvious injuries.

"I'm fine," she croaked. "I just—just…" She waited for the words to come, but they wouldn't. Instead she threw herself on him, burying her head in the crook of his neck, and breathed in deeply.

He whispered her name, and her entire body shivered in pleasure. It was a beautiful reunion.

Her hands worked quickly to remove his restraints. As her fingers worked, she whispered again and again, "Hold me. Just hold me."

And he did. She'd never felt such exquisite pain as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight.

"You're scaring me, Granger."

She was failing miserably, but she couldn't make her heart calm or stop the shaking in her bones.

"What's happening?"

She kissed him. He resisted, unwilling to be swayed. She pushed harder against his lips, her hold on his body becoming desperate.

"Tell me what's going on. Now, Hermione."

"I love you," she whispered.

The words had bubbled up out of her, and she realized too late that perhaps she shouldn't have sprung something like that on him. He wasn't familiar with the concept of love. But she did love him. Oh, how she loved him! She didn't need him to say it in return. She just needed to show him, if only for the next two hours.

"Let me love you."

He didn't reply, but when she kissed him again, his lips were eager and forceful against her own. His lips moved perfectly against hers, as though they'd been made to touch. He held her face in his hands and kissed tears from her cheeks that she'd forgotten she'd cried.

She'd wanted their first time to be in a real bed in a real home, but none of that mattered now. Her hands moved to the buttons on his shirt, and flicked open the first two before his hand covered her own. He didn't speak, but his eyes asked all the questions. She knew she was being rash, her behavior bizarre, but she had no time to explain, no time discuss their unfortunate situation. She just wanted to live. She didn't want to wait anymore and she didn't want to sleep. She wanted to live life fully and she wanted to live it with him—if only for two hours.

"Let me love you," she whispered again.

He paused a moment more before nodding. She made quick work of the rest of the buttons before pushing the shirt open. There were four long, white scars across his chest. She traced them with her fingers, remembering the look on Harry's face after the incident in Myrtle's bathroom. How had so much changed since that moment? She lowered her lips to the mark, feeling the slightly raised skin on the scars. She moved next to the long gash on his side, something she guessed he'd picked up on the run. So many years of his life that she'd never know. Her tongue traced it from his ribs to his navel. She kissed directly above the line of his trousers, and he shuddered.

"Tell me something about you," she whispered, "Something I don't know. Something important."

His voice was husky when he spoke. "What should I tell you Granger?"

She didn't answer, but he could feel her hot breath against his stomach.

"Should I tell you that I loved my mother, but never even told her? Or that I had wanted to hate my father since I was eleven and saw him hit her for getting emotional the night before I left for Hogwarts? Or that I was a hopeful child, and thought that someday he might love my mother and me both?"

She kissed his sternum, and explored his chest with light touches as he spoke.

"Or I could tell you how my three years on the run were brutal and horrible, that I lived on the streets, in sewers, was mugged, and nearly died more times than I can count. I could also tell you that those three years were better than every year that preceded them combined because I was free and I was living for myself. I could tell you that the reason I got caught was because I made my first friend and was reluctant to leave him—a Muggle by the name of Ross who took care of me with no questions asked. He was so much like you—too good for his own good. "

His hands tangled in her hair, bringing her face to his for a sweet and tender kiss.

"Or I could say that I won't make the same mistake as I made with my mother. So, I'll just tell you now that I love you. More than anything. And that I would trade every other moment in my life for this one."

She hovered over him, her eyes wide. She hadn't been expecting to hear those words from him. But she couldn't deny the effect they had on her. Though she would have originally sworn otherwise, she needed to hear that he loved her. If she was going to survive this, she needed to know she wasn't alone.

"I love you, Hermione Granger," he repeated, snapping her out of her daze.

She gave a small sniffle and smiled happily. She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to each cheek, his chin, and finally his lips.

"I love you. Gods, I promise I'll always love you, Draco."

She saw the worry in his eyes at her wording, and crushed her lips to his to thwart any questions. His hands moved to her waist, and she could feel the heat through her thin hospital gown. His hands were strong, with long fingers, and she wondered how she'd gone so long without feeling his skin against hers.

His hands bunched the material up to her waist, and she felt his pinky brush softly and tantalizingly against the edge of her knickers. Her breath caught in her throat, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She loved kissing Draco. It was passionate and natural. She didn't have to think about it, but at the same time it blew her mind.

She pulled away, hooked her fingers under the waistband of his trousers, and gave a tug. He groaned, and she looked up into his darkened eyes. They followed her movements as she freed his straining erection. She pushed the fabric the rest of the way down his legs without breaking his gaze. She stared at him a moment longer, before taking in his newly revealed skin. His legs were muscular, despite the time spent in isolation. His legs were covered in fine, golden hairs. Bumps rose on his skin as she ran a fingernail across a small, whitened scar on his upper thigh. Her hands blazed a trail up and across his hip, to the slightly darker gold hairs at the base of his cock.

Her exploration was methodical, wrapping her hand around the base and squeezing slightly to gage his reaction. His eyes were closed and his head tipped back. He looked to be concentrating very hard, and Hermione smiled. Her touch was feather-light as she moved her hand up towards the head, feeling every ridge beneath her fingers. He let out a low groan when she swiped her thumb across the small slit, collecting the liquid gathering there.

Hesitantly, she raised her hand to her mouth, and darting her tongue out to taste him. He didn't taste bad, more salty than anything.

"Granger," he groaned, "are you trying to kill me?"

She smiled. "Quite the opposite actually."

He grabbed her hospital gown, pulling it up to her midsection. His fingers danced across her ribs, tickling her lightly. She clutched the edges of the garment and pulled it over her head in one motion. She remembered a little too late that she wasn't wearing anything besides knickers beneath it, but Draco didn't seem to mind. Her nipples hardened in response to the cool air, and then managed to become even more rigid as his fingers brushed the underside of her breasts.

"You're distracting me," she whispered.

His fingers grazed her nipples, before weighing her breasts in his palms.

"What am I distracting you from?"

"This."

She pulled away quickly, and dropped a kiss on the weeping head of his penis. He moaned in response. He smoothed her hair, fingering a curl, before cradling her cheek in his hand. She placed another kiss on the underside of his shaft, and he looked at her questioningly. She knew what his look meant. He was trying to tell her that she didn't have to do this. But she wanted to give him as much pleasure as she could. She was sure that it had been quite a while for him, and he deserved this. She guessed that near thirty minutes of their time had passed. That left her with a little over an hour and a half with him.

Determined, she leaned down and wrapped her lips around the purpled head. The muscles in his legs and abdomen immediately tightened, and he wound his fingers into her hair. She took in as much of him as she could and then took the rest of him in her fist. She glanced up at him. His eyes were screwed shut, and he was panting heavily.

She pulled back, moving her fist up as she went, and then swirled her tongue around the tip. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked hard, feeling his hips buck beneath her. She continued the same pattern, bobbing her head and following with her hand. His hands tightened in her hair and his hips moved with her mouth. She used her other hand to continue exploring, sliding across the top of his thigh, and giving a playful squeeze to his arse.

She started at the base of his cock, drawing her tongue along the underside up to the head, and he moaned. His face was flushed, and all his muscles tensed. She knew he was close. She covered him again with her mouth, sucking harder and moving faster.

"Hermione," he moaned. His voice was husky and it sent a tightening sensation down her spine. He moved his hand to her jaw and motioned for her to lift her head. She ignored it, and moved her left hand to cup his balls as she allowed her teeth to lightly graze the sensitive underside of his shaft. His hips bucked in response, and before he could pull her away, he reached his peak. She swallowed eagerly and continued pumping him with her hand until he was spent. She placed a final kiss on the head, and then sat up, grinning.

"You Gryffindors are dangerous creatures."

She smiled, moving until she hovered over him. She placed a loving kiss on his shoulder before replying, "Maybe it's just this Gryffindor."

He smirked. "Maybe."

He pulled her tight against his body, her pebbled nipples connecting with the hard planes of his chest, and they both sighed. He gripped her thighs and rolled so that she was beneath him.

"Let's find out exactly how dangerous you are."

She'd been so concentrated on him this whole time that she hadn't realized her own current state. Her limbs felt weak and shaky, her skin was flushed, and there was a persistent ache deep in her belly. Draco traced a single finger across her panty-covered mound, and her hips bucked wildly in response.

He wasted little time in bestowing upon her the same attention she'd given him. His kisses covered her entire neck, and he nipped his way across her collarbone. He licked down the center of her chest between her breasts, and then palmed the twin globes.

One of her hands was buried in the hair at the nape of his neck, and the other clutched tightly to his shoulder. Her body was so sensitive from desire that his every touch nearly made her weep in response. When he sucked her nipple into his mouth, her jaw dropped in a silent scream. He moved to show the same attention to her other peak, biting down lightly. Hermione trembled in response. He moved down her stomach, showing particular interest to the slightly fleshy part of her stomach directly above her hips.

She was wound so tightly that she nearly fell over the edge when he blew on the soaked fabric of her knickers. He situated her legs on his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss her clit through the material. He stroked her inner thighs, drawing maddening circles toward her center. She had to concentrate to keep from tightening her thighs around his head.

"Tell me you love me," he ordered.

She tried to answer, but she couldn't focus. His hot breath and teasing fingers were distracting her. He buried his head between her legs, dragging the flat of his tongue across the cloth of her underwear.

"I love you!" she cried in response. Her head was spinning from the overstimulation, and she repeated it again. "I love you! I love you!"

As a reward, he hooked his fingers into the sides of her knickers and drew them down her legs, pausing in a few places to kiss her fevered skin.

She noticed that he was hard again, and she hoped that he didn't plan on teasing her any longer. She wasn't sure if she could handle it, and she wasn't sure how much time they had remaining.

He moved back between her legs, and teased his tongue between her folds. She moaned, her hips jerking at the sensation. He circled his tongue around her clit, and simultaneously pushed a finger into her. Her whole body jolted and her control snapped. He'd barely touched her, and her body was shaking in orgasm, her channel contracting around his single digit.

He grinned up at her, looking proud of his accomplishment. She let out a shaky laugh, and pulled him up to her. She kissed him tiredly. Happily.

"Who knew we were missing this all those years?" he asked.

The pleasure that had been coursing through her system slowly dissipated.

"I know," she replied. "I wish we hadn't taken so long to come to this point."

She felt the tears gathering in her eyes and blinked them away before he could see.

"I don't know, Granger. Don't they say that it's all about the journey? I'd say we've had ourselves one hell of a journey."

He was right. He was so very right. He had no idea what was going on, and yet he'd still managed to calm her fears. She laid her palm on his cheek, feeling those sharp, aristocratic features that had bothered her once upon a time.

She leaned up, kissing him softly. The chaste kisses deepened when she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth. She pushed her body up to meet his, and felt his hardened length against her inner thigh. She took him in her hand and directed him to her entrance.

"I'm not sure that it could ever cover what this moment-- what _you--_ mean to me, but I love you. The words pale in comparison to what I'm feeling, but it's the only way I know to express it."

"You'll just have to show me." He smirked before slowly pushing into her, feeling her warmth encase him.

He moved so slowly that it felt as though he would never enter her completely. He wore an expression of concentration as he sheathed himself inside of her.

He felt immense inside of her. It was slightly painful at first, because it had been a while since she'd done this, but the longer he remained, the easier it became. Finally, she felt his hips settle on top of her own, and she could feel the tip of him as though he were pressing against her womb. She stared into his grey eyes. So alive and full of fire. She couldn't imagine seeing the spell's lifelessness in them for the rest of her life.

She brought his lips to hers, sharing her soul with him in a kiss, and gasped into his mouth when he pulled out slightly, and then pushed back in.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, sliding in and out once more.

A stray tear ran down her cheek and he kissed it away. He planted kisses on every part of her face, as his hips settled into a slow, deeply penetrating rhythm. She felt something stirring in her, as she watched him move above her. His body was so graceful—strong and smooth. She felt like she was participating in a dance, and Draco knew all the moves, pulling her along with him, until she lost herself in the movement. She lost part of herself to him in that moment. And she was glad. She couldn't live without him, and she wasn't sure how the spell worked, but she hoped that if he had this piece of her with him always, he might find some sort of strength or peace. At least she hoped he would. Her worst fear was that living with the spell would be painful for him. He didn't talk enough about it for her to know. If he had a choice, would he rather choose a different route than spend the rest of his life under the spell's control? Was Lucius even speaking the truth? There was no way to know, other than waiting for the spell to take hold, waiting for it to be too late.

He took hold of her chin, directing her eyes and her mind back towards him. He ground his hips into her, pushing his pelvic bone against her clitoris in the process. Her body hummed in response, and she forgot about her worries as he sped up his pace. He rested his hands on her bottom and lifted her hips, moving in her at a different angle.

He hit a particularly sensitive spot, and her hand tightened on his shoulder, her fingernails digging into his flesh. She wrapped her legs around his waist and met his thrusts, silently encouraging him to go faster. Her mouth was open, and she was whispering words that he couldn't quite catch. A particularly hard thrust shifted her farther up the bed, and she felt a small twinge of pain in her injured ribs, but the pleasure quickly overpowered her. His movements started to become erratic, and he rested his head in the juncture of her neck and shoulder, kissing her neck between breaths. He leaned down and ran his tongue across her nipple, and she gasped. He sucked the small bud into his mouth, determined that she would come with him. She could hear the gentle slap of skin against skin, feel their sweat-slicked bodies sliding intimately against each other, and mourned for a future where she would never feel anything quite like this again.

He reached a hand down to flick at her clit, and her tears of sorrow became mixed with tears of pleasure as her second orgasm crashed over her. Her body shuddered violently, and she felt Draco release his seed into her a moment later. He continued grinding his hips against her through his release, every touch to her sensitive clit sending another small spasm through her. He collapsed against her, and she welcomed his weight, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle. She loved the feel of his solid body on top of her, but all too soon he pulled out of her to lie at her side. She reached for her wand on the floor beside the bed, and cleaned them up with a wave.

Draco didn't hesitate to pull her against him, tangling his legs with hers.

"Well, this certainly wasn't what I expected to happen today. But if this is what my future holds, I think I can even tolerate this place."

Hermione was silent against him, but clutched to him tighter, trying to hold her tears at bay. She wanted to hold on to these moments just a little longer—where nothing mattered beyond skin upon skin.

"Who knew St. Mungo's was offering this kind of service, eh?"

He was nervous. She could tell by the pitch of his voice and his attempt at humor, but she didn't know how to comfort him when she couldn't comfort herself.

"Did I leave you speechless Granger, or is something bothering you?"

She didn't lift her head from his chest, afraid to meet his eyes. She tried to think of a way to pose her question.

"With no evidence clearly supporting either option, what would you say would happen to a spell upon the death of the caster? Would it be broken or become permanent?"

"I'd say it would depend upon the spell. Minor battle spells are usually voided in the case of death, but I have heard of some spells becoming permanent upon the spell caster's death, yes."

She sucked in a breath, unsure of how to continue.

"What about punishment spells, like say, your spell?"

He didn't answer, and she felt him go rigid beside her.

"My father?" he whispered.

His voice was scared, and it sound so much like the Draco Malfoy she knew all those years ago. She wondered if perhaps he still had some feelings towards his father after all.

"If your father were to die, Draco, what would happen to you? Do you have any idea?"

He put his finger on her chin and forced their eyes to meet.

"Where is this coming from, Granger? I mean, I can guess, but jumping to conclusions has got me in some trouble in the past, so I would prefer if you would just tell me, and then we'll figure this out together."

"Your father… He—he…"

Draco's eyes widened, and then scanned the bruises and scrapes on her body. His fists tightened and his expression turned to rage. He made the connection she'd never intended him to make.

"My bastard of a father did that to you?" The words were a growl.

She thought about denying it, but Draco had already moved on.

"I'll kill him. That is if Potter hasn't killed him already."

"Draco, listen to me."

"What did he do to you? How?"

"It's not important what happened Draco. We don't have much time I'm afraid. When Lucius attacked me, Harry found me."

She watched the fury deepen on his face at the mention of Harry.

"Harry was… he was about to kill Lucius, but I stopped him."

"What?" Draco demanded, "Why? God knows I hate Potter, but my father deserved—"

She cut him off. "Your father said something that made me…well, I thought it best to wait."

She paused before continuing, "He said that if he died, the spell on you would become permanent."

Draco's face was schooled into an unaffected mask, but she saw him pale ever so slightly. She held him tightly as she waited for him to respond.

"He could have been saying it to save his own hide. He was a Slytherin for a reason, you know," she said, hoping that this assumption might be true.

His eyes dropped to hers, and she could see the fear in them. He hesitated before answering.

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?"

He sighed wearily, "I mean that Slytherin that he is, I think my father was telling the truth. Our family punishment curses all have some sort of time frame which allows the spell to be reversed by the caster should his judgment prove wrong. In some cases that time frame ends after a set time of several years, other times, usually the more serious punishments… well, they end with the life of the man who cast the curse."

She couldn't speak, but she turned her face away so he couldn't see her fear. She wanted to be strong for him. She pulled herself closer to him, memorizing the feel of his body against her own.

"How do you know?"

"You remember how I told you about the portrait I saw when I was younger of Frederic Malfoy? As I told you then, there had been a rift in the family, and they'd cast the punishment spell on him to set an example for those considering rebellion. In reality, it had the opposite effect. Malfoys are never ones to accept threats. Frederic's brother, I believe, killed the Malfoy who cast the spell in retaliation, only to learn that by avenging his brother, he'd actually condemned him. They waited until the matter was settled to try to reverse the spell, and then learned it was too late. That's part of the reason the spells stopped being used…well, until me, that is."

"Is it possible that when the spell becomes permanent, you might still have some moments like this… moments of sanity?"

His fingers brushed the length of her cheek, and she saw resignation in his eyes.

"I don't think so, Granger."

She held him tightly. "I was afraid of that. I think that the spell is directly linked to Lucius in some way. Your periods of lucidity began when he was first imprisoned in Azkaban. So I would guess that the effects of Azkaban, the Dementors, weakened the spell."

"So you think the spell is connected to his soul? I mean, that's the only thing affected in Azkaban right?"

She trembled slightly before nodding. "Yes. His…" She hesitated to use the word soul in relation to Lucius Malfoy, "His lifesource. It's the only explanation as to why the spell was affected so quickly by your father's imprisonment."

"So if he were to die…" Draco continued,

"Or something should happen concerning his soul," she added.

"The spell would be directly affected."

She hadn't realized her body was shaking until he ran a soothing hand down her spine. The question remained as to how exactly the spell would react. Would the loss of Lucius's soul mean the same outcome for Draco as the loss of his life?

"The Dementor's Kiss?" Draco asked.

Hermione nodded against his chest.

"Today?"

She nodded again.

"So that was the only reason for all of this, one last hoorah?"

"Draco, no!" Hermione cried. "It wasn't like that. Yes, I knew that this might be the last time I got to spend with you, the real you. But I meant all of it. I love you! And I would have said it sooner. I would have done _this _sooner. But I had hoped to get you out of here first, to give you your life back. Of all the things for me to fail at, why did it have to be this?"

"Don't be stupid, Granger. This was hardly a failure. You've given me so many things that I never would have had if it weren't for you."

Her body betrayed her and a sob escaped. "It's not enough. I'd planned to give you so much more, a lifetime more."

A loud knocking came at the door, and Hermione could no longer stifle her sobs. Tears clouded her vision, and she couldn't breathe.

That was Luna's warning. She only had five minutes left.

"Does that mean our time is up?" he asked quietly.

"Almost." She nodded.

"Thank you, Hermione. For this. For loving me."

He wiped the tears from her eyes with the pad of his thumb and tried to soothe her.

She reached for her wand and with one flick they were both fully dressed again. She crawled into his lap and curled up against his chest.

"I meant it when I said I'll always love you. I'm not sure how I'm going to live without you."

"Easy, Granger. You're going to live splendidly without me. You'll go on to do great things," His voice was quiet, but she heard it crack with emotion. "You'll travel the world. You'll live a full and happy life."

She shook her head into his chest as she cried.

"Promise me, Granger. Promise me you'll live a full and happy life. Don't sit around here taking care of me. Don't waste your life on me."

"Draco, don't..."

"Promise me you'll try." He gripped her arms tight and pulled her up to face him. "_Promise me_," he whispered fiercely.

She crushed her lips against his before nodding. He kissed her in return. It was hard—emotional and angry and passionate. It was the end of a long-fought battle. A battle lost.

"Is it awful? Does it hurt? The spell?" she whispered.

"I can deal with the pain."

"What's the worst of the spell? Tell me… Tell me what to do."

"You do nothing, Granger. You live your life. I can handle the spell. It's really only memories after all. It uses my memories against me. At least you've given me some happy ones to hold onto."

She wasn't certain on all the mechanics of the spell, but she just hoped that he _would _be able to cherish those memories. She worried that the spell would taint that happiness, too. She wished she could have given him more. She leaned forward and kissed him softly, lovingly. He laid back down on the bed and pulled her beside him.

"Do you have your wand? Just in case?" he asked.

She plucked her wand from the floor, holding it tightly in her fist, and nodded.

"As soon as the spell takes hold, I want you to leave, Hermione."

"But—"

"No, I mean it. I want you to stop thinking about everyone else for a change and take care of yourself. I don't—I don't want you to see me like that."

"I've already seen you under the spell, Draco," she reasoned.

"Don't make this difficult, Granger. Just do this one thing for me."

She'd never heard him sound so desperate. "Okay. I promise. Maybe I won't have to… maybe the spell will just disappear completely. I mean if the presence of the Dementors caused the curse to fail momentarily, perhaps the Dementor's Kiss will cause it to fail completely."

He sighed and ran a hand through his long hair. "I suppose that's possible, but I think you're asking the wrong question. Yes, the curse is directly connected to my father's soul, if he has one. But the soul has nothing to do with the time frame of the spell. The spell becomes permanent upon death. The question is whether or not the curse will see the Kiss as death."

"But it's possible right? We can't know for sure."

He held her tightly. "Yeah, maybe."

They lay there in silence. She tried to ignore the fiery pain rushing through her veins. If she closed her eyes tightly, she could almost imagine that they were somewhere else—in a flat in the city or a house in the country just for them. They could be lying on the sofa in front of a fire with absolutely no worries at all. She could have nothing on her mind except for the perfect way his body fit against her own.

Seconds stretched on and Draco allowed himself to imagine what their life might have been like. He tried to imagine himself as a father, but he just couldn't see it. Hermione on the other hand would make a great mother. He imagined her stomach round with child, her face glowing. He kissed her nose lightly, wishing he could give her that. He felt moisture gather in his eyes and blinked it away. He couldn't cry. She had given him far too much for him to be sad.

His arms tightened around her, his fingers gripping her waist tightly.

"Draco?"

His forearms flexed around her, pressing tight on her injured ribs.

"Draco?" Her voice shook.

She gripped her wand tightly, and moved to pull his hands off of her.

"Go, Hermione. Now."

This was her answer. Apparently the spell considered the soul and the life to be one in the same. She pushed his hands off of her, and he rolled on his back, his fists clenched at his sides. His eyes were shut tight, his teeth gritted. His arms flailed against his will, one of his fists catching her in the side. She stumbled from the bed, gasping. A scream tore its way from his throat and his body seized.

"No!" he growled.

His body jolted, his limbs hitting the padded wall next to him.

"Not her," he whispered.

Her heart stuttered in his chest as she watched him writhe on the bed.

He screamed, "No! _NO!_"

The sound tore at her chest, and his voice was laced with pain as he whispered, "Mum."

She tried not to think about the images going through his head. He looked to be in so much pain, she reached out a hand to him and he latched onto her injured wrist. She cried out.

"Draco," she whispered. "Draco, I'm so sorry."

His body arched up off the bed, and he screamed in agony. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was remembering the effects of the Cruciatus. The contortion of his body and the anguish on his face was unmistakable.

He squeezed her wrist, and pain shot all the way up through her arm. She didn't care. If it eased his pain even a fraction of an inch, she didn't care.

"Kill me," he moaned.

It was just the spell talking.

"No more!" he screamed. "Stop it! Stop! Hermione, no!"

She didn't want to know what he was remembering. There were any number of memories involving her that would be painful. Or it could be another memory that the spell was distorting.

"Make it stop!"

She whispered she was sorry. She whispered it again and again as she tried to remove his grip on her wrist. She couldn't imagine a life trapped inside her own mind, relieving only her worst memories and seeing the good memories twisted into something haunting. It wasn't fair. It was cruel, and he didn't deserve this.

Something shifted in the back of her mind, clicking into place. And she gasped. She couldn't condemn him to a lifetime of reliving his past. It had only been a few minutes, and already, it was torture. His body would give out eventually if he had to remain like this. He'd been through so many horrid things. Wouldn't he be better off if… Could she? Would he want that?

Her mind reeled. "I love you, Draco Malfoy. I hate to see you hurting!"

She raised up the hand he was holding, placing a single kiss on his tightened fingers.

"Forgive me, but I can't let you live like this. This will be better. There will be no more pain, I promise."

She blinked away a final tear, raised her wand, and then whispered.

"_Obliviate._"


	24. Living on in Berlin

**A/N: Okay. So this was supposed to be the last chapter. But I got a little carried away, and as I wrote it, I found myself drawing towards a natural close. So I'm afraid that this is **_**not**_** the last chapter. There is still at least one more to go (hopefully just one, assuming that I don't get carried away again). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. If I did, there certainly would have been no epilogue in DH. Also, all the pictures in this chapter are mine from my time studying abroad. **

**Moments of Sanity**

Chapter Twenty-Four

_"Rest not! Life is sweeping by;_

_Go and dare before you die._

_Something mighty and sublime,_

_Leave behind to conquer time." _

_-_Wolfgang von Goethe

_She was doing exactly as he had asked. _

His body had slackened immediately upon the casting of her spell. She had held his limp body as she cried, knowing that it would be the hardest moment of her short life, and was sure to eclipse any sorrow she might face in the future. It was suffering if she had ever felt it. It had been like feeling all the pain of death, of loss, of war, all concentrated in a lethal pinprick, but it had been necessary.

She had peered into his eyes, and though they'd showed no recognition, there had also been no pain, and the dull lifelessness that was characteristic of the spell was gone. She had placed a final kiss upon his temple, and exited his ward for the last time. She may not have changed where he would spend his future, but she changed how he would live it—without agony, in a world of unknowing peace.

She had asked Luna to take her to her supervisor, where she had resigned, barely able to hold herself together.

She'd spent three days holed up in her flat refusing all visitors, Floo calls, and life outside of her memories. And on the fourth day she'd boarded a flight to Berlin, with no plans to return anytime soon. She'd left a note for friends explaining as much as she could bear to detail, and promising that she'd be back as soon as she pieced herself back together.

So that was why she was walking here next to one of the massive columns of the Brandenburg Gate. Numerous people of immeasurable greatness had accomplished impressive feats in order to walk this walk—a walk intended for victory.

She walked here because there was a Starbucks down the way where she started every morning.

She wasn't sure if this is what he intended when he'd told her to live… how had he put it?

_Live splendidly. _

She wasn't sure if this qualified as splendid, but she was trying. She was trying to find some meaning in this world, in her life. She was trying to find meaning outside of his charcoal eyes. And she had been trying for nearly four months now. Sometimes she wondered if it was even possible. Everything about her life had somehow become so interwoven with Draco that she wasn't sure it could be separated, or if she even wanted that. Would she ever get over this? Ever succeed? And how much longer would it take? She'd only made small advances in the last four months. Would she be wandering around trying to find herself for years into the future?

That was another reason she'd chosen this particular Starbucks even though she'd had to take two different metro lines to get here. She walked under the imposing architecture of the gate every day, seeing the bullet holes left from the war—the literal mark of history, hoping that one day it would be for her as it was originally intended—a walk of triumph. She was hoping for all the symbolism of starting over, walking through the gate into a new life. But she'd found that symbolism didn't quite work out the same way in real life. It took time. So she kept returning. And she guessed that that was a type of victory in a way—that she was still going, that she hadn't locked herself away and given in to the desolation. She got her usual order and sat near the window watching a group of tourists huddled together preparing to start a walking tour. The wind whipped around the group, causing a few people to lose their scarves. She remembered her first day in Berlin, and the way the icy wind had seemed to dull the pain.

She quickly downed the rest of her cup, thanked the barista, and set off walking. That was what she did here. She walked. She discovered. She opened herself up to a new place, to new things. Some days were more productive than others. Sometimes she'd find herself walking a path she'd already walked just for comfort's sake.

Today was one of those days.

It was drizzling now, and judging by how the weather had been the past few days, it would be raining steadily soon. Hermione pulled her hood up over her mess of curls, and ducked her head slightly. She never bothered with bringing along an umbrella anymore. The wind was too strong for them to do much good. She'd had four umbrellas broken before she'd finally gone out and bought herself a hooded coat.

She let the wind carry her forward, not bothering to fight it. The invisible force was much stronger than she, especially today.

It was a quick walk to today's destination, just about a block before she saw the uneven concrete pieces that were at once so simple and so complex. She'd felt a particular closeness to this place since she first discovered it on her second day in Berlin. There wasn't much grandeur to it. Just 19,000 square meters of concrete slabs of varying heights arranged in a grid.

The Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe.

She stood outside the grid watching the rain splatter on top of the slabs, before entering into the memorial and walking down one of the aisles. The blocks around her were small at first, coming to around her calves, then her waist, then towering several feet over her head. The ground on which the memorial was built contained several slopes, so that one had to walk into small valleys and up hills before reaching the other side. It reminded her a bit of a maze, not unlike the hedge maze built for the TriWizard Tournament. But at the same time it was very different. There were no plants here and no magic, only heavy, solid concrete—grim, immoveable, and honest. This was not a game. This was life. And the loss of so many lives was not something to be memorialized with grand gestures and beautiful statues. Instead, the great stone slabs acknowledged that the past could not be changed. It was there, planted firmly in the ground with no way to beautify it or make it elegant.

Walking through the maze, she watched as the droplets of rain slid down the stone pillar like tears. It was moving, standing here in a valley, eyes seeing nothing but grey. She felt small, like a mere pawn in a worldwide game of chess.

She may not have been able to come to terms with the way things were with Draco, but her time here in Berlin had helped her come to terms with her memories of the war—memories she'd buried deeply in an effort to move on quickly.

There was something about Berlin that gave her hope. After the second World War, the city had been in such chaos, such ruins, that they had considered not even rebuilding. And to see it now was breathtaking. It was a unique blend of modern and historical, and represented man's ability to overcome hate. She admired the people of Berlin, too. They'd been through so much, pulled in so many directions, and they were surviving still—more than surviving, they were living! She'd met people in her time here, who bore distinct scars down their forearms—scars received from barbed wire while trying to climb over the wall. She'd always considered herself brave until she'd met people like that. She couldn't imagine having to climb over barbed wire, knowing that there was another ninety-one meters of the death strip to cross while dodging men with guns, before coming to a second wall that had to be scaled in order to reach the West side of Berlin. She thought you'd have to have a lot to live for or not much at all to face such a nearly certain death.

She thought about Draco and how truly brave he was. He never would have admitted to it, far too Gryffindor for his liking, but he'd faced everything with such courage—the spell, his father, the war. He'd survived three years on the run with very little money or help, with only his own intellect to keep him alive. She both admired and pitied him for it. It had made him into the person she loved, but she wished he hadn't had to endure all that hardship. At least it couldn't haunt him anymore.

She wondered for what seemed like the millionth time if she'd done the right thing by Obliviating Draco. She'd done the only thing she could think of to keep him from feeling pain, to help him survive. But at the same time she'd taken everything from him, not just the bad memories. Perhaps she'd only prolonged his suffering. But at the same time, he wouldn't remember enough to know that he was missing anything. She sometimes wished that she could do the same to herself.

She felt that she had quite a bit in common with the city of Berlin. They'd both been pulled in too many directions. She'd been divided with each different part of her going to a different group of people or purpose. And she could only handle the division for so long before the walls holding her up collapsed. It was the reunification bit with which she was having difficulty. But Germany had done it, and she would too.

She finished walking through the memorial, and exited the opposite side. She waited until the walk light was green, and then crossed the street to a small parking lot, dodging puddles as she went. The parking lot was nearly empty and the only evidence of the people around her was a bright blue umbrella in the distance.

She kicked a small stone, watching it skid across the pavement.

She never would have found this place on her own because it wasn't exactly advertised or highlighted in any travel books. She'd actually learned about it from another Brit she'd met on the metro, but nearly fifty feet below her muddied trainers was the very bunker where Adolf Hitler had spent his last months and the place where he took his own life. She could see an intersection in the distance, which she now knew to be the place where a few SS officers set fire to the body of Hitler and his companion, Eva Braun. The underground bunker was actually quite large, and stretched beyond the simple parking lot of the eight-story,1980's, Communist-era apartment building which it serviced, but there were no grand memorials—only cars, an apartment building, and a Chinese restaurant. In the last few years, the government had finally agreed to place a small plaque identifying the grounds and supplying a small amount of information about the Nazi leader's shelter, but no matter how many times she came here, she rarely saw any tourists.

She wished that the Ministry had handled Voldemort's downfall in the same way. Instead, they'd used nearly everything involving Voldemort as some sort of propaganda to make the Ministry look better. The memorial to his first defeat by the boy who lived at Godric's Hollow was just the beginning. The Riddle House had practically become a flocking ground for those fascinated with the maniac. She was glad at least that Hogwarts was still closed to those not attending school or specifically invited to visit. She could only imagine the crowds that the location of the final battle would draw.

She looked back to the memorial, and watched the people weaving through the rows, a few carrying umbrellas that looked like bright jewels among the massive expanse of concrete.

She walked back towards the memorial, heading towards the center where the blocks were the highest. She lowered herself to the ground and leaned against the nearest block. It was cold against her back, and she could feel the rain against the back of her neck. She raised her face to the sky, only a few drops of rain managing to reach her where she sat. The raindrops were quickly joined by her own teardrops, and she found herself struggling to breathe normally. She was beginning to think that she'd feel this broken forever. She looked the same when she looked into the mirror. Her body was the same, perhaps a little thinner. She felt as though just one piece of her had shifted, but still enough to keep all the rest of her from fitting together correctly. It made it all the more frustrating that she felt as though she were only a few inches away from everything falling into place. In the wide expanse of her life, Draco had only occupied her heart for a few months, like a mere pebble on a long road. It reminded her a bit of a rockslide—one small change sends everything crashing down. Now she just had to dig her way out of the rubble. But at the moment, she felt as though she were buried too deep and years away from seeing the light of day.

She slumped against the concrete behind her, wishing that it were slightly softer and curved around her with long pale arms to wrap around her middle. She'd always thought that life seemed so short, but knowing how much of it she still had to live without him, it now seemed impossibly long, unending even.

She missed him. But this wasn't the kind of missing that could be cured. She couldn't see him again to ease the ache in her chest. It would only make things worse. Because he would never again be the Draco she knew. He would be little more than a shell. Though at the moment, she felt oddly similar. She could hear a group of tourists speaking in Chinese a few rows away. She pulled herself to her feet, and rubbed away the rain and tears on her cheeks.

She made a quick retreat, heading towards the nearest U-Bahn station. She could see the famous Potsdamer Platz in the distance before she descended the stairs. She took the U6 line for one stop, then switched over to the U2. She stayed on the U2 line for another twenty minutes, taking it all the way to the end stop at Pankow. Her apartment, or rather the bedroom she was renting in the apartment of an older German woman, was only a two minute walk from the station. She'd been lucky to find the room. It was in a residential area of town, but not too far out of the way. Mrs. Schoepke had been widowed during the Communist Era of Berlin and had been renting out rooms ever since. She spoke only a handful of words in English, but she was kind and tried very hard to be helpful. Hermione knew she could have just cast a translation charm to help her cope with the language barrier, but she felt as though she might be cheating herself if she did that. The challenge was part of the experience after all.

"Guten Tag!" she called as she entered the apartment. "Frau Schoepke? Ich bin Heim!"

The woman came bustling into view, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder, a wide smile on her face.

"Gut! Gut!" she called. Hermione smiled because she at least understood their exchange so far. Gut meant good… that much she could follow. But the string of words that followed were completely lost on her. She did manage to understand the words "telefon," "freund" (meaning "friend), and "baby."

It took a moment for her to process the words and then she gasped, "Luna!"

The woman was holding out a small sheet of lined paper with several sentences written in German. Hermione didn't know who could have called that would have been able to communicate with her landlord in German, but perhaps they had cast a translation charm. Knowing she had to be sure, she reached into her coat pocket and wrapped her fingers around the handle of her wand. She cast the charm silently, hoping that Frau Schoepke wouldn't think her sudden knowledge of German too bizarre.

She read the words on the paper quickly, confirming easily that Luna had gone into labor about two hours ago. She lost track of the time while she'd been here. Could Luna really be having her baby already? How far along had she been when Hermione had left? She'd been showing certainly. What was it… four? Five months? That would definitely fit the right time frame. Merlin, Ron was going to be a father! He might already _be_ a father. How the world had changed!

She didn't stop to think about whether or not she was ready to return to London. She had to be there. She owed it to Luna.

She called a quick goodbye to the German woman, thanking her and telling her she would be gone for a few days, all in fluent German.

She grabbed her purse, not even stopping to pack a bag, and ran all the way back to the station. She took the U-Bahn to Alexanderplatz, and then jumped on the first line she saw heading to Friedrichstrasse, where Berlin's International Portkey Office was located.

She couldn't breathe as she ran into the alley that led to the entrance, masked much like Platform 9 3/4 by the illusion of a brick wall. She slowed briefly to make sure there was no one around before pushing through the wall.

Her heart beat erratically in her chest. She could hear it in her ears, so loud that she couldn't hear anything else.

Her body was shaking so strongly that she could barely fill out the travel forms. She was scared. Terrified, actually. She was barely holding up here, hundreds of miles away from her pain. How could she be expected to keep herself together back where it had all started? In St. Mungo's of all places! As she placed her hand on a rounded disk along with an older man and a young teen, she tried to clear her thoughts. She couldn't be afraid. She had to be stronger than this. He had wanted her to be better, braver.

Moments before she felt that familiar tug behind her navel, she whispered to herself.

"Live splendidly."

**A/N: Only one chapter left! My own pictures of the Brandenburg Gate, the Memorial for the Murdered Jews of Europe, and the parking lot over Hitler's Bunker can be found on my profile!**


	25. Echoes of Old Life

**A/N: I know that it has been an inexcusably long wait, but I do have a very good excuse. My computer broke not once, but twice in the middle of writing this chapter. I was just lucky that I had it backed up on a zip drive. But I had to send my computer off and wait for them to fix it. Then I got it back after about two weeks, had it for two days, and it broke again. But the good news is that they replaced my stupid computer with a new one because these last two times brought it to a grand total of six times that my computer has broken with the same problem every time. So to get this chapter done… I was borrowing friends' computers, writing sections in emails and emailing them to myself… it was rather pathetic if I do say so myself. **

**But the good news is…. This is the final chapter of Moments of Sanity. Very sad, but also a relief. I cannot promise anything right now, but there is the possibility that there will be a sequel. But at the very least there will probably be an epilogue. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

"_The leaves of memory seemed to make  
A mournful rustling in the dark."  
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

_"A strange thing is memory, and hope; one looks backward, and the other forward; one is of today, the other of tomorrow. Memory is history recorded in our brain, memory is a painter, it paints pictures of the past and of the day."_

_-__Anna Mary Robertson Moses_

**Moments of Sanity**

**Chapter Twenty-Five**_: Echoes of an Old Life_

Travelling by Portkey only lasted a few seconds, not nearly enough time for the whirling sensation to clear her hysterical thoughts. She supposed that that was the appeal of travelling by Portkey, but at the moment she felt a strong longing for Muggle travel. At least then she would have had hours to get her emotions in check, to reel in her gallivanting thoughts, but instead it took mere minutes to arrive at the Ministry and then Floo to the lobby of St. Mungo's. The white walls were everywhere, overbearing, and she felt like she was in a nightmare. Her limbs were tense, her self-control like a tiny string pulled nearly to its breaking point. She could feel her calm exterior splintering, but she refused to let anyone see her brokenness. She wasn't one for failure, and her time in Berlin was supposed to have healed her, but she was still as shattered underneath as she had been when she left. She was beginning to think that this was something that couldn't be healed, at least not fully. She couldn't ask her love to fade away and heal into a small scar instead of a gaping wound. She could only cover it again and again as time passed. The question was how long it would take to bury it enough that she could appear normal. That was the goal after all, right? To appear normal? To appear like she hadn't just fused her heart with another person's and then been forced to rip them apart again with her own hands? That was the goal, right?

And what would she do when her duty was done here? Would she return to Berlin in an attempt to find the Hermione she used to be? Or was that just a glorified attempt to run away? She was beginning to worry if life was even worth the agony of living it.

Hermione felt sick and dizzy, but she forced herself to step into a lift. It was empty, thankfully, and she tried not to listen to the voice that called out the different levels. She knew what level she was nearing, what words she would hear over the speaker before she could reach the floor where Luna would be located, and she couldn't handle it. She pressed the button to let her out on the second floor. She would just have to take the stairs, that would be easier. She would work her way up in the literal sense. The stairwell, too, was empty. Her footsteps echoed in the wide space, reminding her of her solitude. She'd underestimated how difficult it would be to climb all those flights of stairs. Now along with her footsteps, the sounds of her panting filled the space. She kept her eyes focused on the steps, both to prevent falling and prevent her mind from wandering. And then she was in front of the door of the Janus Thickey Ward, the exact floor she had been trying to avoid. Perhaps the elevator would have been a better choice after all. At the least the escape could have been much quicker. Before she could even acknowledge how incredibly stupid her actions were, her hand was on the knob, turning it quickly and pushing the door open.

She was surprised at how utterly the same it all looked. She felt as though these walls and floors should be changed as much as she. They should show the wear and tear of moving on from something you had hoped never to have to let go. Instead the floors were pristine and shiny, reflecting the lights overhead. Her legs moved down the hall with surprising ease, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be back here. She glided toward the door, his door, and she felt like she was flying. She should have known this would happen. It was like a magnet. She was connected to this place, connected to him, and she had to come back here. There was no staying away. The door loomed large in front of her-- the gateway to another world, another life. There was no window, no way of looking in; she'd have to enter if she wanted to see him. She placed her hand against the door, feeling the electricity of both excitement and fear race through her. She still knew the spell to open the door. She glanced around the hall and there was no one out to stop her. She took a deep breath, the longing nearly palpable, and glanced at the patient's label next to the door.

_Patient 2311._

Patient 2311? That... that was _not_ Draco. She remembered specifically that his patient number was 1431. He wasn't here. This room wasn't theirs anymore. Suddenly the electricity was gone. And though the disappointment was there, she felt largely relieved. She supposed that he had probably been moved to a different room, perhaps because he suddenly started exhibiting entirely different symptoms. He would no longer have been violent or a danger to himself or anyone else. He would have been more vulnerable, more like a child trapped in an adult's body. If the spell had worked according to the specifications she had intended, he would still remember small, basic, instinctual things. He would be entirely capable of taking care of himself. He would still maintain all his physical abilities from before the spell, mainly because of muscle memory more than actual psychological memories. And though he wouldn't remember his own ability to do magic, there would be that intrinsic feeling that there was something in him, something extraordinary. She wondered if the healers might have deduced what caused the change in him. Perhaps then they would have moved him to a more appropriate location in the ward. There would no longer be a need to keep him in isolation to protect himself and others.

Perhaps this was for the best. Fate knew better than she, and maybe she shouldn't see him again. A clean break would be easier. Or less difficult anyway. It was somehow easier now to return to the stairwell and continue her trek to the maternity ward. The stairs seemed like less of challenge, the walls didn't seem so close, the air was more breathable. It was suddenly only physical, just one foot in front of the other. There was no more internal struggle, no more battle. It was as though the choice had been made for her. It didn't matter if part of her longed to see him, because she couldn't. Fate had made the choice that was so hard for her to make. She'd started the process, but inevitably, it had been taken out of her hands.

It was for the best.

She hated that that had become something like her anthem, the thing that allowed her to keep moving when she felt like she could do nothing but stand still. She reached her destination and paused in the stairwell, taking a moment to calm her breathing and wipe her eyes. Today wasn't about her. It couldn't be. She just needed to stay focused on Luna and her joy. It was when she thought about herself and her own problems that things got messy. The door opened easily and the hallway she entered was much more lively than the one she'd just left. There were families gathered in several places, laughter ringing through the hall. . An older woman looked through the glass at the nursery of newborns with crystal-clear tears flowing through the wrinkled grooves on her face. Hermione wandered if she was seeing her first grandchild or perhaps even a great-grandchild. She wondered if she would ever know that kind of joy. She couldn't see how. She couldn't imagine loving anyone else enough to have his child. She just couldn't imagine ever coming to love someone in the way she loved Draco now. She wasn't even sure if her love for Draco would ever even fade enough to allow another love.

"Hermione."

The voice was little more than a whisper, but it sliced through her thoughts like the sharpest knife. Her spine instinctively straightened and her hand tightened on the wand that she only just realized remained in her hand.

"No, Harry."

She heard him breathe deeply behind her back and she closed her eyes, wishing she could will him away. She couldn't look at him. So much of that day was wrapped up with him. She knew that technically, she couldn't blame him, but it didn't change how her heart lurched at the thought of him and her eyes burned with tears.

"Just leave me alone, Harry. I can't do this now."

"But--" he began.

"No, Harry. I'm here trying to be a good friend to Luna. But if you push this, I _will_ leave. I told you I'm not ready to speak to you, not now. I will leave if you make me."

She heard him step away. But he was Harry Potter, and he needed the last word.

"I _am _sorry, Hermione. I hate that I hurt you. I was distracted and not myself. I didn't realize how much he meant to you."

"Stop. Stop!" She had dropped her wand to the ground and wrapped her arms around her middle as if to protect herself. Her eyes were shut tight, and she was biting her lip so hard she could taste the coppery presence of blood.

He paused and she could sense that he wanted to say more, but after a moment's hesitation, he moved away. She opened her eyes and saw that he was several paces ahead of her, waiting with his back turned. She realized that he would have to show her to either Luna's room or where the rest of the Weasleys were waiting.

She cleared her throat quietly and he began moving forward. She followed him down the hallway, turned right, and then made a left into a waiting room. The small room had virtually been conquered by redheads. There were two people in one corner who were not a part of the group, and they were cowering away from the twins who were nearby. She couldn't blame them. She felt a little like cowering at the moment herself.

"Hermione! You came!" It was Molly's voice she heard first, and Molly's arms that started the small hug which quickly escalated into Hermione being smothered by every redhead in the room. She noticed that Harry remained by the door, and she was grateful. She tried to keep her breathing steady, but failed. It was Arthur who first realized that she was shaking. He removed his arms and stepped back, which made the twins behind him step back as well. Bill and Charlie were never one for hugs and they let go quickly without encouragement. She was now left with the only two female Weasleys.

"Let her breathe. Molly, you're squeezing the poor girl to death," Arthur replied calmly and casually.

The two let go reluctantly. She waited for the questions she knew would come. The 'How are you?' or the 'How was your trip?' or even 'What have you been up to?' But none of them came. Instead, there was silence. It was thick in the air, so much so that she felt she might choke on it.

She ended up breaking the silence, and they all appeared relieved.

"So, I'm guessing that she hasn't given birth yet? Seeing as how you all are still in here, rather than storming her room?"

"George and I actually already did the storming thing, but we were a bit early." Fred frowned.

George shuddered in response to the memory. "The sight was not at all pleasant."

Though in the past, Hermione would have laughed outright at such a comment, she felt relieved that she could at least feel the smallest hint of contentment hum below the surface.

Silence overtook them again as they all settled into seats around the room. The quiet lasted for so long that Hermione was beginning to think she could distinguish between the sounds of different people's breathing.

It was then that the only missing redhead rushed into the room panting, with a wide grin on his face.

"It's a girl!" Ron yelled.

The excitement and laughter rang loud in her ears.

"A girl?" Mrs. Weasley cried. Her expression was both incredulous and ecstatic, as though she'd resigned herself to dealing with herds of boys for her entire life.

"A girl, Arthur! We have a granddaughter!"

"We do." Arthur smiled. "And our first grandchild at that. And it took us until our youngest to get a kid willing to give us one."

"Hello! Still the youngest here." Ginny huffed.

"Youngest son, darling," Mrs. Weasley explained with a pat on Ginny's shoulder.

Harry laughed from his perch in the corner of the room, and Hermione watched him make eye contact with Ginny. She knew that Mrs. Weasley still had her heart set on seeing Ginny and Harry together, and Hermione was wondering if that wish weren't too far-fetched anymore. But at the same time, the Harry that she'd seen before she left was nothing like the Harry she'd always known, and she wouldn't wish the new Harry on Ginny.

But as Harry moved to Ron and engulfed him in a friendly hug, she thought he looked much better than the last time she had seen him. He looked happier, and the bags beneath his eyes were much less noticeable. His posture was relaxed and he seemed carefree and at home among his friends. She wondered if his strange behavior had dissipated with Lucius's death or if its symptoms had gradually disappeared.

"Congratulations, Ron." She tried to smile, but she wasn't sure if she had pulled it off. The expression felt unnatural on her face.

"Hermione." He smiled. "I'm so glad you're here. Luna will be so happy to see you, too. She actually wants to see you for a few moments alone before everyone comes in."

Hermione nodded and followed Ron from the room. Luna's room was at the end of the hallway and Ron, like the rest of the Weasleys, appeared unsure of what to say to her. He stopped at the next-to-last door and gestured for Hermione to enter. The door opened with a high-pitched screech, and then she heard Luna call out tiredly.

"Hermione?"

"I'm here." She stepped around a curtain to see Luna holding a small bundle in her arms. Her golden hair was wet with sweat and stuck to her forehead, but the smile on her face seemed to illuminate the entire room.

Hermione stepped up next to the bed and gazed down at the newest Weasley. "You both look beautiful, Luna. Have you decided on a name?"

"Eveline." Luna smiled. "Eveline Cecilia Weasley."

"She's wonderful." Hermione felt the smile on her face, and for the first time in a long time, Hermione felt as if she was brushing home with her fingertips. That thing she'd been fighting to get back since the war-- that sense of normalcy and contentment and just _home-- _was here within her reach, and she felt the peace well up inside her.

"Hermione. I wanted you to be her godmother, if you'll accept."

She felt overwhelmed. But she didn't need the slight hesitation she took.

"Of course, I will." It might be her only chance to see a child grow up. If she couldn't have her own, she'd love nothing more than to be a part of the life of the youngest Weasley.

'Listen, Hermione," Luna started. "We've given you your space these last few months because we thought you needed some time alone."

"I did," Hermione interrupted. "I still do, I think. I love the Weasleys, but being in that room with all of them was suffocating."

"I think you've had enough time alone, Hermione. A lot has happened since you left, much of which concerns you."

Hermione nodded and figured as much. She'd left the country before she could give her testimony about Lucius's attack. Normally, they would have tracked her down by now, but they did have Lucius's memories, and everyone was so glad to have the ordeal over that they had been willing to put the paperwork on the back burner for a while.

"I know you were probably planning on heading back to Berlin after a few days, but I think it's time you moved back here permanently. There is something that is going to need your round-the-clock supervision." There was a knowing glint in Luna's eye, and Hermione laughed.

"You can count on me to help with Eveline anytime, Luna. I won't put up a fight."

"That's sweet, Hermione, but I was referring to something else."

There was a loud knock on the door followed by two softer ones.

"That's Ron." Luna smiled. "He always knocks like that. Annoys the hell out of me."

Hermione tried to laugh again, but she felt oddly nervous around everyone but Luna.

"Honey?" Ron called after opening the door a crack. "Sorry... I held them off as long as I could, but they're all dying to see Eveline!"

Hermione could feel the small tremors of anxiety running through her limbs, but she nodded in acceptance to Luna anyway. She hadn't much of a choice.

Hermione situated herself against the wall to allow room for the influx of people. She listened to Molly raving over her granddaughter, and watched Ron beaming proudly. She felt Harry's eyes on her, but kept her gaze fixed decidedly elsewhere.

"Oh damn!" Ron huffed.

"Language, Ronald." Molly frowned, "What's wrong dear?"

He ran a hand through his mussed hair. "Oh nothing, Mum. I just forgot Luna's overnight bag in all the rush, that's all. I left it in the kitchen, I think. I'll just run back to the Burrow right quick and get it. It's no problem; after all I did promise... " he trailed off before finishing his thought and Hermione saw her opening.

"I'll get it! Is it just at the Burrow?"

"No! Hermione... let me, really!" Ron called.

Hermione needed the excuse to get away. She knew this was going to be difficult, but she felt on the verge of collapsing from stress and every time she closed her eyes, she swayed from dizziness.

"Nonsense, Ron. Stay with your wife and child. I'll only be a moment."

She heard several of them call after her to stop, but she turned over her shoulder before they could stop her, and the squeezing sensation gave way to the quiet peace of the Burrow. The silence was embracing, welcoming and she closed her eyes in relief.

"It's about time!" a familiar voice called. "I was beginning to think I'd never get an update!"

His familiar drawl registered at about the same time that she opened her eyes to see platinum hair and grey eyes. There was a single moment of bliss that felt as though fireworks were exploding in her chest, and then her legs were giving way and darkness conquered her vision. Before she fell completely into unconsciousness, she heard her name on his lips. But it wasn't the name she longed to hear.

"Granger!"

His voice sent a burning sensation from the tip of her fingers to her deepest core, and then there was nothing beyond the black.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

When she came to, her heart was still beating fast and her entire body ached. Harsh pain radiated specifically from where the back of her head had cracked against the floor. How embarrassing. Her insane thoughts had now given way to hallucinations. She could only be thankful that no one was here to witness her pathetic episode. That was when she heard the voices, and if she hadn't been unwilling to alert them to her conscious state, she would have groaned. By the sound of it, nearly all the Weasleys were present.

"I tried to stop her."

"We all did."

It appeared she'd only been out for a few seconds. Had they been so worried about her that they'd felt she couldn't go anywhere alone? She had been living perfectly fine on her own for the last few months; she didn't need any help. Though at the moment, she had to admit, she was glad for their presence. She had no desire to move and take care of herself, and it wouldn't hurt to let Molly do it for her. She supposed she could relinquish control for just a little while. It had been such a very long day.

"This was a terrible way for her to find out."

"Really? I think it's perfect!" That was definitely one of the twins. "We were worried about finding a way to tell her, and now we don't have to!"

"Oh George, don't be so insensitive." So Molly was here then.

Find out what? she wondered. Had she missed something back at St. Mungo's that perhaps she should have picked up on? She had been rather distracted the entire time. She had been trying not to think too hard, but at the same time, the moments of silence were when the unwanted things began to creep in, so she'd been concentrating on trying to keep a nice balance. She was just so sad that they had to see her this way. She hated feeling weak, but hated even more to appear to be so. These were her very best friends, her family. And they knew her to be the strong, stubborn, brilliant witch who never saw a problem she couldn't solve. Well, except for one. The most important one.

Suddenly she found herself wishing again for unconcsciousness. It was so uncomplicated. She was beginning to think she might spend her entire life analyzing her decision to Obliviate Draco, trying to decide if there might have been a better way or if she had chosen the only solution.

She felt a damp cloth against her forehead and opened her eyes slowly, leaving the comfort of darkness behind. The light caused little pinpricks of pain, but she adjusted quickly.

"Oh, Hermione dear! We're so sorry! How are you feeling?"

She wasn't sure exactly what she was feeling. Pain. Disappointment. Embarrassment. And a bit of nausea.

"What are you all doing here? Shouldn't you be at St. Mungo's with Ron and Luna?" She asked.

George laughed. "In this family, babies aren't exactly a novelty. If you've seen one, you've seen them all."

Fred leaned over her, his wide grin dominating her view. "And that is why I'll end up being her favorite uncle instead of him."

"None of you really answered my question. Why did you all follow me?" Everyone stilled, glancing back and forth, until finally most eyes rested on someone on the very outer edge of the group whom she hadn't noticed until now. Hermione sighed.

"Harry? What's going on? What am I missing?"

Fred and George took her by the elbows and helped her gently into a chair. Harry took one step forward and the rest of the group moved back, for which she was thankful. She still felt slightly overwhelmed.

"You've been gone for a while, Hermione," he started.

She felt sick. Either her body felt like she was spinning or the world around her had sped up its rotation. Harry seemed nervous, but she noticed that he made no attempt to move any closer to her.

"And many things have changed in the past few months."

She only nodded in reply. Nothing felt even remotely the same. Being back here, she could see her old life, feel the ghosts of it moving around her, trapped forever in a time to which she wished nothing more than to return. Harry looked around at the other Weasleys, and then glanced toward the back door of the Burrow.

"Why don't we sit out on the porch while we talk? Perhaps the fresh air would do us both some good."

Her legs didn't feel like her own as she followed him outside. What had happened to the fear she'd felt earlier in his presence? She was just so tired, weary. And he looked so much like the old Harry. As she stepped outside, the cool breeze made it easier to breathe. She realized she must have been sweating, as the air made patches of goose bumps rise on her skin. She closed her eyes tight, swaying in her place.

"Are you all right?" She felt his hand on her arm, steadying her.

"Yeah," she breathed. "I must have hit my head a little harder than I thought. I'm such a klutz."

He helped her to sit down on the stairs. "A klutz? What do you mean?"

She blanched and stuttered, "W-well, yeah. I mean, I just fell and hit my head?" She hated that it came out as a question.

Harry had an amused smile on his face, and she fought the blush threatening to stain her cheeks.

"You don't have to lie to me, Hermione. It was my fault anyway. I should have stopped you, or told you, or I don't know, do anything besides what I did. Or rather, what I didn't do."

"Harry. I hate to interrupt what is shaping up to be a very nice speech, but I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

He sighed and covered his face with his hands. "I know," he groaned. "I know that I'm just rambling. But there is no good way to start this, and I have no idea how to react. Maybe it's like an old sticking plaster. Maybe we should just rip it off quickly."

She thought about that for a moment. What needed to be done quickly? What could he possibly have to tell her?

"Did you really just compare me to an old sticking plaster, Potter?" A familiar voice called behind her.

She saw Harry's eyes widen moments before the recognition kicked in. Time ceased to exist, and the world both began and ended in that moment. Her heart seemed to fold in on itself, and it felt like it was collapsing and exploding at the same time. She felt disjointed, like she was no longer a whole person, but instead, pieces of herself that were all screaming and trying to move in different directions. Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, she did manage to turn her head, and the feeling in her chest was better and worse than she could possibly describe.

"Don't faint again, Granger."

She'd never really listened to anything Draco Malfoy told her to do, and she wasn't about to start now. She felt Harry catch her head moments before unconsciousness took her.

She wasn't out for very long this time, but when she came to she was lying across the porch swing, Harry was gone, and the love of her life was facing away from her, seated on the steps she had previously occupied. The swing squeaked with her movement and he glanced at her over his shoulder.

"They say third time's the charm. I'm not sure whether that would be in your favor though, so if I were you, I would try to stay awake this time."

She couldn't think. Any stressful moments in her past were usually filled with racing thoughts and ideas flooding her mind, but she felt curiously blank at the moment. Maybe she was in shock. Or awe. Or both. She could only look at him, absorb everything about him. She couldn't help but feel that this was some cruel trick. Would she wake up back in Berlin broken and alone?

"I-I don't understand."

He sighed and hunched further over his knees. "You've fainted twice now, Granger. The third time might just stick."

She shook her head fiercely. That wasn't what she'd meant at all. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but he stopped her with a raised hand.

"I know," he sighed. "I was trying to diffuse the tension."

"I can't--" She closed her eyes tight, "What is-- I can't--" She gasped. "I can't breathe."

It didn't matter whether this moment was true or false, she still felt as though her heart was breaking all over again. She couldn't stop the flood of tears from her eyes. They ran down her cheeks and across her lips until she tasted salt.

"Granger," he sighed.

He was closer now, leaning against the railing across from her swing.

"Tell me how to do this right. I want to know what to say, how to fix this, but I don't." His voice was rough, strained.

"Just tell me how," she pleaded. "How is this possible?"

He slumped onto the ground, and her heart beat faster when she saw the muscles flex in his arms, and the way the sun danced across the hollow of his throat. Maybe if this was a dream, she didn't want to wake up.

"I'm still a little fuzzy on the details, but I will explain it as best as I can. But there are some things about which I am just as much in the dark as you."

And so his story started.

"I spent three weeks in St.Mungo's being poked and prodded by different healers who all wanted to know what had changed about me, but I couldn't tell them anything. I didn't even know my own name until they told me. They taught me basic things... things that I originally learned when I was just a wee babe. But then at the end of the third week I had my first visitor. I thought perhaps it might be this beautiful brunette who occupied my dreams and my earliest memory, but it was a prat with a weird scar on his forehead."

She released a choked laugh, but didn't dare to interrupt.

"He was actually rather rude, but he promised that we used to know each other, and all the healers were just falling over themselves to have a chat with my visitor, so I decided to listen to him. He said we'd attended school together, actually used to hate each other, but that he wanted to help me get my memory back. I asked him why, and he told me that he owed it to a friend. Of course, he had to lay down some pretentious ground rules. He made me promise to let him have control over my so-called recovery. He would determine if we needed to slow down, things like that. I was still a bit unsure, but he said he'd brought something to convince me. He pulled out a deep, black basin, told me that it was called a Pensieve, and emptied a glowing, silver substance into it. I thought he was mental when he told me to lean inside it, but I figured that I didn't have much to lose. I fell into what looked like a dream. There was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair, the same color as mine, chasing after a tiny little fellow holding a broom twice his height. His hair was nearly white and he had this angry little smirk on his face. I didn't even need to hear the woman calling after her son to know that that little boy was me and the beautiful woman my mother."

She noticed that he was short of breath and it seemed the story was difficult to recount.

"Draco," she whispered kindly.

"No," he stopped her again. "I need to do this. We both need answers."

"Needless to say, I accepted Potter's offer. He refused to tell me anything about how I had lost my memory, only that it had been unavoidable. He gained special permission, like only the Boy-Who-Lived could, to remove me from St. Mungo's and have me taken care of by an in-home specialist. Of course, that was just Gryffindor-speak for Weasleys. They brought me here and I've been doing therapy every since. I spent the first few weeks exploring memories of my childhood. They were selective of course. Potter told me later that the memories were actually my father's. The Ministry apparently has all of the memories of my father's life locked away in some room."

She felt herself pale. Had he seen all of Lucius' memories? She shuddered in response to the awful memories her own mind drudged up, but he didn't seem to notice and pressed on.

"There were, of course, large portions of my life missing, as my father wasn't exactly what some might call attentive to his child, but Potter had another solution for that. I had kept journals from the time that I could write until I left Hogwarts. Potter somehow had my last journal and thought it was worth a shot to see if I ever kept any others. Turns out he had been right. He found nearly a dozen more for me to go through."

She knew exactly where Harry had gotten Draco's final journal. Those last few days were blurry, but she did know that the Malfoy spell books and Draco's infinite black bag of belongings must have been left behind and eventually taken by the Ministry for their investigation. The only thing that hadn't been confiscated was the emerald locket hidden beneath her robes.

"After I received all those memories, I moved on to some that Potter had collected from some childhood friends. I believe there were some from Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle, and quite a few from Pansy Parkinson. She seemed to have paid rather close attention to me when we were younger. I was of course subjected to Potter's and Weasley's memories of me as well. They said something about not wanting me to see myself in the way Pansy saw me."

A laugh bubbled up through her tears, breaking the surface swiftly and filling her up with joy.

"And there was so much to go through, it took months quite literally. And even then, it was like seeing the disjointed, abridged version of your own life. What is it that the Muggles call them? Ah, yes, movies!" He laughed, and she yearned to know the memory behind it. "And it was confusing at first-- seeing so many other people's memories of my life, but having no idea what was actually going through my mind. The journals did help with that. They helped me to better understand exactly what kind of person I truly was. Though I was rather surprised at how much my personal thoughts differed from my actions. I guess that's childhood though. Or at least that's the reason Molly gave me."

His story slowed, and he closed his eyes briefly before opening them once more, a determined glint blazing.

"Potter—Harry…" he corrected, "managed to get his hands on a few of Severus's memories of my time after Hogwarts, though I must say I could have done without some of the horror I saw there. And..." he paused. "Those are the last memories I received."

The chasm in her chest widened. She didn't know what she had been expecting. Only she really knew of their time together, so he couldn't possibly remember anything other than the girl he'd seen in memories of Hogwarts. Some part of her mind thought that he had to sense it on a deeper level, or he wouldn't be here explaining these things to her now. She had dared to hope for a moment that he had miraculously remembered how much she loved him. She couldn't understand a world where Draco Malfoy could look at her and not know that every beat of her heart, every breath from her lungs, was solely for him.

"I have, however, made some assumptions. And though I don't exactly know for sure. I'm guessing there was more to our history than petty arguments and childhood name-calling."

She cleared her throat unsurely.

"And why is that?"

"Well... first off... Weasley is the worst whisperer I've ever heard. It's like his mouth is a megaphone. And Potter had a tendency to avoid any conversations or memories concerning you. And any time you were mentioned, Lovegood would always look at me queerly as though she expected me to explode at any second."

Luna. Hermione wasn't sure how her friend had managed to know everything she knew, but she was grateful. Without Luna, her last moments with Draco, the Draco who loved her, might never have been possible.

"And then..." he continued, "there is the fact that though your Hogwarts self may have been younger with bushier hair, you were without a doubt the beautiful brunette that I remembered from St. Mungo's. The one who had looked so sad as she left me that I wanted nothing more than to make her smile forever. To make you smile."

She tried to smile, but it was a poor imitation. He didn't know what he was asking. He still had no idea that she was the one who had taken away his memories. There was so much he didn't know. He didn't know anything of his time on the run or how he had been caught or why he had been put into St. Mungo's. He seemed almost happy now without all those things weighing him down. She didn't see the same sorrow in his eyes that had haunted him from the beginning. This was a new Draco, a different Draco. She'd taken so much away from him. Could she take this away too?

Her eyes rose to him and she noticed that his hands were clenched tight on the railing, his posture ramrod straight, and his gaze was absorbing her every reaction.

"I-I've resigned myself to the fact that there will be parts of my life that I will never get back, Granger. Harry has provided me with no specifics, though I do have a general idea of what my life was like during the war. But I know that there is something bigger than that missing. I can feel it. It's different than all the other holes in my memory. It's like a void so deep that everything else collapses into it. Without that piece, I'll never be me. Help me, Hermione. I know you can. I need to know what happened between the time I was on the run with Severus and that first memory I have of you in St. Mungo's. What happened to make you leave? Help me remember, please."

Help him? Hadn't she been trying to do that all along? But all she had done from the beginning was hurt him. Hurt him by helping him. She couldn't keep this from him. It was his life; he had a right to know. She couldn't imagine what it must be like for him. Like trying to build a puzzle with only half the pieces.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Okay?" There was such hope in his voice.

She nodded, and immediately Harry stepped out onto the porch. She wanted to be offended, but it wasn't as if Harry didn't know absolutely everything that Draco knew at this point.

"Draco, would you mind grabbing the Pensieve?" Harry asked.

Draco rose silently and disappeared into the house.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. "You hate him. You were so angry with me. I don't understand."

Harry kept his eyes fixed away from her, but he didn't leave.

"I'm not proud of the way I acted those last few months, Hermione. I was-- was not even remotely myself. I thought I was through with the Dark Arts when the war ended, and even more so when Lucius was captured. When he escaped I just lost it. And I wasn't lying when I said I loved you, Hermione. I always loved you. But I was blinded by my own hatred. After you left, I saw what I had done to you and how my actions had made your already difficult situation worse. After Lucius attacked you, it woke me up. The Ministry confiscated some things from your home, namely the books from Malfoy Manor and that clever black bag. I-I was curious. I read about the spell, read your notes on it, even read some of Malfoy's journal."

Her jaw tightened involuntarily at the intrusion into Draco's privacy. But hadn't she done the same thing?

"If I hadn't been such an arse, if I had listened to you... I could have postponed Lucius's Kiss to give you time to figure things out. I forced you into your decision. It still took me a few weeks to fully realize how idiotic I had been. It took Luna taking me to St. Mungo's to see him to put me in my place. So I thought it only right that I try to put things right. I owed you that much. I'm just sorry I couldn't do better than I have."

Her chest felt lighter, like she could just float away. He truly was like a brother to her, and it had been so difficult to lose him.

"Oh, Harry!"

She crossed to him in seconds and threw her arms around him.

"I can't ask for better than what you've given me. You've been-- you are-- just…thank you. Thank you. This means more than you can possibly know."

He held her close for a moment longer before stepping away. He shoved his hands into his pockets and a serious expression crossed his face.

"Anything for you, Hermione." He sighed. "Now. He's used to the process by now, he's been doing it for a while, but I'm not sure how he will react to your memories. He usually handles the difficult ones really well. I try to alternate the good with the bad."

She smiled. That was exactly what their love was about. There were the good and the bad all woven into one dysfunctional, beautiful relationship.

"I'm scared." She spoke honestly. How does one go about doing something like this? It was epic and life-changing and ineffable.

"Don't be." Harry smiled. "I think a part of him knows already. He dreams about you often. In fact, I think that you've pretty much consumed his every thought since we ran out of memories."

"But why? He should only know me by the memories you've given him. Why is he so fascinated by me?"

Harry looked at her as though she were missing some key detail.

"Hermione, you were the very first thing he saw in this world-- his first true memory that was entirely his own. Those first few seconds after you Obliviated him were all he had for those three weeks in St. Mungo's before I came."

She gasped, "I didn't think—I didn't know! I assumed that it would take him a minute to come around, by which time I would have been gone. No wonder he's curious."

"I think it's beyond curiousity at this point, Hermione."

She nodded, unable to speak. She suddenly felt cruel. He must have wondered about her, expected her to come visit him. Or maybe he just assumed she was another doctor. She couldn't think about this now. It was all too much. She moved on to her next worry.

"But what about the spell? It was bad enough having to see him like that myself. I can't subject him to that. You don't-- you can't understand what the spell was like for him."

"I think the good memories he'll be making will outweigh the bad. He's a good man. It took me a long time to realize it, and granted he wasn't really Draco Malfoy for much of that time. But I'm happy for you, nonetheless."

"Thank you, Harry! I still don't think the words can quite cover it, but thank you!"

Harry laughed and stepped further away. "I think he's waiting inside for me to leave. The Gryffindor in me can still feel when Slytherins are close by."

Harry clasped her hand in his for a moment, and she felt encouragement wash over her. She'd forgotten what their friendship felt like. The past few months, she'd been drowning in her own grief. The fresh air was exhilarating.

Harry left, and she heard the small pop of Apparition. She had a feeling that all of the family had returned to the hospital to welcome the newest member of their family and to give the two of them some privacy. A moment passed in silence before Draco returned. He held the Pensieve reverently. She could imagine how he must have first looked at the magical object, the thing that allowed the return of his memories-- most of them.

She wondered how he would react to these memories. Her heart ached for that moment when he would surface from the memories and look at her with the love she remembered in his eyes. But he was a different person now. Just because he was to witness the way they fell in love didn't mean this new Draco would fall for her in the same way.

She couldn't imagine how much pressure he must be feeling. He had to decide whether he would accept and conform to the old Draco that he saw in his memories or become someone new, and all without the necessary sense of self to make good decisions. Was it selfish to want to continue their relationship now? Didn't he deserve some time to focus on himself and find out who he was or who he wanted to be?

"You're as pale as a ghost, Granger."

She shivered. There were so many thoughts running through her mind as she contemplated which ones she would show him first, which ones were most important. If her goal was to make him fall in love with her all over again, she would have to do this right. But was falling in love again what was best for him?

"I'm just—this is slightly overwhelming." She tried not to let him see her shaking.

"I can definitely sympathize." He smirked.

Gods, he looked so much like _her_ Draco. Every fibre of her being was alive and thrumming at his closeness. She wanted to touch him. She still hadn't felt his skin under hers.

Choosing the memories was difficult. It would take him weeks to get through all of it, but she was anxious and wanted him to know as quickly as possible.

She cleared her throat solemnly. "I'm going to concentrate on the major moments during your first run-through. Then if—_if_ you'd like, you can explore a bit deeper."

She placed her wand to her temple and concentrated on the first memory. Necessary though it was, it was painful.

_Hermione had checked in with her supervisor and was ushered (a little more quickly than she would have liked) to the door of her patient. Her supervisor, Anna, had left with a smile and a whispered, "Good Luck!" She stood in front of his door and scanned a label that read "Patient 1431." She took a deep breath and placed her hand on the doorknob. She slowly turned it, and watched in horror, as the… the… thing in front of her tore at its clothes. His hair was long and unkempt and his face looked unmistakably tired. He had deep circles beneath his eyes and his always pointed features seemed to protrude even more. He tore at his flesh, and seen through his ripped attire, his characteristically pale skin was littered with scars, many of them concentrated around a forearm that bore no Dark Mark. And that was what spurred her into action. She closed the door and fled towards him, _

"_Malfoy," she said quietly, still maintaining her distance. When he didn't respond she stepped a little closer to him and repeated herself. "Malfoy." _

_His actions progressively became more violent. _

"_Malfoy!" she tried yelling, but he still had yet to notice her presence. She did the only thing she could think of to do; she placed her hand on his and said, "Draco?" _

_He immediately calmed and his eyes snapped up forcefully to meet hers. The eyes that she had once categorized as a deep molten silver that glinted maliciously were now dull and… dead. She took in the scars and scratches on his face and the unshed tears in his eyes and she looked at him in a way she had never looked at Draco Malfoy before. _

_With pity. _

She took a deep breath and placed the long, silvery wisp in the basin.

She followed that memory with the first time the spell faltered and she realized that the old Draco Malfoy was still buried inside of him. Then, she added the memory of when she cleaned him up and cut his hair.

She tried to remain objective as she filtered through the memories. It was the first time she'd really allowed herself to remember since she'd left for Berlin, and she couldn't afford to get caught up in them now.

She quickly added his first hints at the curse. She left out her visit to Malfoy Manor and her date with Harry. She focused on only her interactions with Draco. She blushed as she added the memory of their first kiss.

_She gave a high-pitched squeak as he quickly wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a tight hug. She tensed as he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, but relaxed when she felt his tears soaking her skin. This… was the exact opposite of Draco Malfoy. His body was in complete rebellion against him. Her brown eyes met his gray ones, and he began to slowly inch closer. _

_Closer._

_Closer._

_His eyes were dull, still under the command of the spell, which for some reason continued to compel him forward until his lips met hers. _

She didn't include the incident at Harry's office when she'd seen him basically set fire to the entire place, but she did add her memory of leaning on Draco's shoulder as she vented about the experience. And then she added their second kiss. Which had ended up being so much more than a kiss.

_Her kisses were hungry and passionate and it was easy to get swept away. He caught her lower lip between his and sucked. A moan floated from her lips and caressed his face. Some of his anger floated back to the surface and he bit down on the lip between his teeth. The hands gripping his shoulders tightened and her fingernails dug into his skin. But he could tell she liked it. She needed the pain; it released her fear. His hand traveled to her thigh and with a sharp pull, she was straddling his lap. Their kisses didn't stop, and their tongues danced back and forth in a natural rhythm that fueled the heat coursing between them. It was Draco who won dominance, and his tongue explored her mouth with vigor. He traced the roof of her mouth with the tip of his tongue and she hissed. She sucked on his tongue as hard as she could and he groaned into her mouth. He broke away from her, moving to place kisses down her neck before he hesitated. He pulled back as he slowly realized that the spell was gone and he'd been kissing her of his own volition. His eyes opened and he watched as she whimpered at the loss of touch. She looked at him through lidded eyes, panting heavily. He could feel her breasts pushing against his chest and they rose and fell with each breath she took. Hermione stared at him for a moment and then her eyes, too, widened in recognition and in horror. With a small "oh!" her cheeks were flooded with a vibrant red as she climbed off his lap._

Then of course there was her reaction to the kiss.

_She rushed toward the small toilet bound to the wall and doubled over, sweeping the hair out her face and holding it at the nape of her neck. A spasm gripped her stomach and she gagged as she was reintroduced to the extremely small meal she had eaten at the Burrow that morning. She gagged for a second time, but her stomach was already empty._

The memories washed over her more quickly than she could move them to the Pensieve.

"_You're crazy," she breathed, backing up in an attempt to escape. Her back met the wall and he closed in on her like a predator stalking its prey._

"_Not right now, love."_

_His fingers lightly caressed the skin of her throat and he whispered onto her lips, "Help me."_

_Her eyelashes lifted and she gazed at him in confusion. "What did you say?"_

_He stepped backwards, ending all contact between them. "I asked you to help me, Granger."_

She added the long conversation they'd had about Draco's past. He'd filled her in on what happened after he'd left Hogwarts, how he watched his mother die, his three years on the run, and finally his capture and the spell cast by Lucius.

She was careful to put everything she knew about the spell into the memories. He had to know everything she had known about the spell. Maybe then he would understand why she had done what she did.

As they grew closer, the memories became more intimate and elaborate. There were memories of warm embraces and heated moments. There was the rather erotic memory of his sponge bath and the subtle changes that began happening in the spell.

_She washed his hair twice because it had been so long since his last shampoo, marveling at how clean and fresh his body still seemed despite his lack of regular bathing. Tenderly, she cleaned his face with a damp cloth, feeling the high arch of his cheek bones beneath her fingers. She paid particular attention to his jaw. She abandoned the cloth, then, and ran the pad of her pointer finger across his jaw. Using a quick spell, she trimmed his hair a bit, but not too much. She moved down to his shoulders. Standing behind him, she drew the sponge up the slope of one and down the other, watching in fascination as the water trailed down his chest until it disappeared into the rest of the tub. She discarded the sponge, grabbed the soap, and worked up a rich foamy lather between her hands. Slowly she spread the soap over the taut muscles of his shoulders, allowing her hands to dance briefly over his neck. She began kneading the muscles, wanting to feel them underneath her hands. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling of his hard but pliant body._

_Her hands wandered across his chest, slowly dragging the soap along the curve of his pectoral muscles. Her fingers were inching slowly down his torso when she felt a vice-like grip on both her hands._

_Her eyes flew open to take in his long pale hands covering hers. She was behind him, with an arm on each side of his head. _

"_Draco?" she whispered._

_Immediately, as though in reaction to her voice, his hands tightened sharply, crushing her fingers painfully and causing her to cry out._

"_Draco? You're hurting me!" She tried to pull her hands back or nudge him with her elbows, but his grip was like iron. She could feel his nails beginning to leave indentions on her hand._

"_I'm sorry. Please stop! __Draco__! Stop! __Stop!"__ She was crying now. Finally, she managed to stand and maneuver an arm over his head so that she was facing him, but at an odd angle. She noticed then that his eyes were hazed over and realized that __Draco __wasn't doing this. It was the spell. She used all her strength to try and to pull her arms free. Her feet slid against the floor as she pulled away, unable to find purchase on the slick tile. Her eyes were squeezed shut with the pain which was almost too much to bear, when his grip abruptly disappeared, sending her flying backwards. The breath was knocked from her as she landed harshly. Barely lifting her head, her vision locked on lively, questioning, grey eyes._

She remember the way she had cried after she first translated the spell and read it to him.

"_I'm sorry. I don't know what's… I'm sorry. I, I—"_

"_Shut up, Granger."_

"_I-I'm fine."_

"_No, you're not, you're a Gryffindor. You'll never be fine."_

_Without taking the time to think about it, he hooked an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his chest. She stiffened for a moment and then relaxed._

"_I hate you," she sniffed._

"_No, but you wish you did."_

_She stared at him, and her bleary, red eyes opened wide._

_Then she cried. Again._

Then there was the time he had almost choked her to death. She didn't include the entire memory, because she knew the way he tended to let himself be plagued by guilt. She just incorporated enough for him to understand the level to which the spell had progressed.

She smiled as she moved on to her escape from her friends and her apartment to go to St. Mungo's. That was the first time they'd kissed without the spell having a hand in it.

_She crossed to him, her heart pounding forcefully. She carefully placed her fingers on the straps holding him down, giving him an apologetic smile._

"_I missed you," he sighed. _

_Tears welled in her eye, and she dropped to her knees beside him._

"_I missed you, too."_

_And then she kissed him._

She found that she was shaking as she added the romantic moments that followed that kiss. The way he'd insisted she wear his mother's necklace still made her heart beat fast. She was reluctant to let him know about Lucius' attack on her at all. Perhaps later, once he'd had a chance to come to terms with all of this.

And finally she came to the moment that was at once both her most beautiful and haunting memory. Those final hours they shared together, the way their bodies had become one. She placed every moment of those hours into the basin. It was something that had branded her forever and she needed him to know every second of it, to be as changed by it as she.

And then she was done. All of their time together that she could bear to expose him to at this point was compacted into that silvery, swirling substance in Harry's Pensieve. She wasn't sure how long it would take for him to go through them all. Days at least. The anxiety pulsing through her system was maddening. Would he be her Draco again when this was finished? A shadow of the Draco she knew? Or someone else altogether?

She knew she would have to have patience. To give him time to absorb all these new things.

Several hours must have passed because the sun was straining against the horizon. She turned to Draco, realizing that this was the first time she'd seen him out of that horrible room at St. Mungo's. He was beautiful in the dull amber glow of the sunset.

"That should do it," she said quietly. "When you're finished with those, if you want to know more, just let me know."

She placed the Pensieve on the ground and then rose from her seated position. She stretched, feeling the tightness in her hips and back, and then smiled down shyly at him. She took one last deep breath, preparing herself to do what she knew would be heart-wrenching and nearly impossible. She smiled once more, and then turned to walk away before she could change her mind.

"Wait! Where are you going?" he called after her.

Her shoulders slumped, but she took a moment to build her resolve before turning around to face him.

"It's going to take you a few days to work your way through those memories. Some of them will be a bit difficult to watch," she warned.

"But I think it's something that you should do alone. The last thing I want to do is pressure you. I can't even begin to imagine what you're feeling right now or how confused you must be. And I don't want to add any more to that. Examine those memories and then do what you feel is best for you. Don't act in the way that you think the old Draco would or in a way that Harry would like you to or even me. But take your time. You've gained an entire life in a matter of months. Take some time to figure things out before you make any decisions. If you need to see me, Harry or any of the Weasleys, for that matter, can give you directions to my apartment."

She couldn't resist him any longer. She reached her hand out and covered his own for the tiniest moment. His skin was impossibly warm and smooth to the touch, and she felt the rush of affection swell in her chest. She still loved this man, no matter what memories he did or didn't have.

"Goodnight, Draco. Good luck."

With one final smile, she Apparated to the apartment she hadn't seen in months.

It was going to be a very long wait.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

It had been a long wait indeed. After the first, tortuous twenty-four hours without any sleep or relief from her one-track thoughts, she'd shamefully resorted to using some dreamless sleep potion to knock her out. She would only stay awake long enough to shower and eat before forcing herself back into sleep.

If she wasn't quick about doing the necessary duties, unwanted thoughts began to creep into her mind. She couldn't think about how long it would take for him to go through the memories because then, inevitably, she would freak out whenever that amount of time had passed and he still hadn't come. She was trying so very hard not to be selfish. She was usually good at the whole selfless thing, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

Five days had passed, and it was taking all of her effort to keep Draco from consuming her every thought. She couldn't stop thinking about what his decision would be. Even if he chose her, she knew it would be very difficult for them to be together. Relationships were hard enough—the added complications of Draco's memory and their history would only add more obstacles to overcome. So rather than continuing to think about the very thing that was tearing her apart, she took another dose of dreamless sleep.

When she started to stir nearly twelve hours later, her mind felt blissfully blank. Like a clean slate. Perhaps it hadn't been such a bad thing to relive all those memories. She had been forced to deal with all the emotions she'd been avoiding. And she felt better, stronger because of it.

"I've never seen someone sleep for so long."

She gasped and fought the instinct to pull the covers up and hide beneath them.

She'd lost track of the amount of time that had passed, and she wasn't sure if it was now day or night, but he was there, sitting casually in a chair beside her bed in her darkened room. She could just barely make out his platinum hair, angular jaw, and straight nose. She could feel the beat of her heart in every nerve ending from her fingertips to her toes. It was loud in her ears, and she wondered if he could hear how nervous she was.

"Hi," she whispered.

It felt inadequate and foolish, but she didn't know what else to say.

He merely gave an amused smile, and returned the greeting.

"Hi."

Words failed her. Hell, her entire brain failed her. What should she say? And how should she act? If she appeared too excited, he might feel pressured to give her a positive answer. But at the same time, she could hardly act casual.

She decided on neither. She would wait until he brought it up. Only he knew why he had come here. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched.

"What day is it?"

"Friday," he answered simply, his eyes cast downward.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"I gathered that," he chuckled.

She looked up to him, only to notice that his eyes were focused on her nighttime attire, and exactly how little it left to the imagination. She blushed and pulled the sheets up to her chin.

"How long ago did you finish?" she asked.

He was silent, and blinked a few times before answering. "Only a few hours ago."

"A few hours ago? Draco, I thought I told you to take your time!" Now that she looked at him, he looked exhausted. His hair was a mess, and there was stubble on his jaw.

He rolled his eyes, stood, and moved towards the sunlight streaming in through the window.

She lay back against the pillows and watched him. He seemed both tense and at ease. How was that possible? Perhaps it was the exhaustion that made him appear so loose, as though he might fall over at any second.

"Draco, this is ridiculous. Get some sleep and then we'll talk, I promise."

"Why did you leave?" His voice was raspy. He sounded even more tired than he looked.

"W-what?"

"Why did you leave me? If you loved me, why did you leave?"

He cut straight to the point. Maybe she should have brought it up first after all. Then she could at least have worked her way up to things like this.

"You-you wouldn't have remembered me." Her eyes were wide and she couldn't get enough air into her lungs.

"I didn't remember Harry either, but now I do."

She sighed. "It never occurred to me to do what Harry has done."

"You're the brightest witch in the world, Hermione."

She shuddered at hearing her name from his lips.

"In my defense, I was a little overwhelmed. Everything happened so quickly. I fell in love, lost my best friend, was nearly killed, and then had to-to make the one person whom I would never forget… forget me. It was more than I could bear."

He drew a hand through his hair down to the base of his neck. He gripped the tense muscles there, and closed his eyes.

"I can understand that. But you stayed away."

"I thought—I don't know!" The tears began, and she couldn't stop them. "I was scared… and broken. So broken that any wrong move could have shattered me into thousands of tiny, unfixable pieces. And you had told me to live splendidly, and I tried, Draco. I promise I tried. I travelled, and I did so many things that I'd always wanted to do, but my heart wasn't in it. In fact, my heart felt completely absent. Not just broken, but lost altogether."

She was a sobbing, self-loathing mess. She had no right to cry here in front of him, but he made no objection. He was at her side immediately, pulling her against his chest. He smelled divine, intoxicating even, and she sucked in a deep breath.

"You did wonderfully, Hermione. Ssh… wonderfully," he kept whispering.

"Tell me it worked." She cried into his shoulder. "Just tell me it worked."

"What do you mean?" he asked, stroking her hair calmly.

"The spell!" she sobbed. "Tell me I didn't take everything away from you for nothing. Please, Draco. Tell me the spell is gone. Tell me I did the right thing."

He pulled her tighter against him and leaned the two of them back against the pillows on her bed.

"The spell is gone. It's only a memory now." He wiped a tear away gently. "You did the right thing."

She couldn't stop herself from crying harder. Relief joined the sorrow, and she felt some of the guilt dissolve away. Her blood felt as if it were rushing fast in her veins, too fast, and she felt weightless. As if she might float away. After everything had gone so entirely wrong for so long, this was so right. It was like she could feel her life shift back into place, feel the new Hermione fit back into that old puzzle.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't apologize. You're so strong, Hermione. To have done what you've done."

She scoffed. She was anything but strong. She'd never felt so weak in her life. "You're wrong."

He huffed and replied playfully, "I'm never wrong."

She lifted her head and peered up at him. Those words were so reminiscent of the old Draco. It was like nothing in him had changed. He was the same cocky, confident, wonderful prat as before.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he pulled away from her and rolled to the other side of her bed, perching himself on the edge and resting his forehead in his hands.

"I'm not the Draco Malfoy, you knew."

She nodded, but couldn't bring herself to speak. She had been prepared for this. She couldn't ask him to be something that he no longer was.

"I have no idea what went through his head… my head… sometimes. And I'm missing so many memories that I don't really have enough context to understand all my actions. I'm beginning to think I barely knew who I was then, and I sure as hell don't know now."

She pulled her knees up tight against her chest, as though she might ward off all the pain threatening to crush her if she closed herself up tight.

"But I do know that you captured me from the moment I saw you in St. Mungo's. You were the first thing I saw after the blackness. You were lowering your wand, and your eyes were glistening with tears. Your hair was wild and curling around your face, and you were glowing like some ethereal creature from another world. And I didn't even know who you were, but I was certain for a moment that I had seen heaven.

"I may not be the Draco you knew, but I know that you make my heart beat faster just by being near me. And I know that you are kind and selfless, and you gave everything to help me when I'd been so awful to you as a child. You may not see yourself very clearly, but you are strong and brave and beautiful, Hermione."

He was looking at her now, his grey eyes alight with determination and fire. Her body was thrumming with energy in response.

"I know that this body is drawn to you like no other. Even my fingers feel like they're humming in anticipation of touching you. But even my mind is drawn to you. I dreamt about you every night for those first months because you were the only thing I knew. The only memory I had that was truly mine. And I doubt anyone could see the memories I have seen and not love you. I'll understand if you say no because I may not ever be your Draco again. I will try for you. I will try to be the man that you fell in love with, but I can't promise you anything."

"What are you asking?" she breathed.

"I'm asking if you could still love me. You promised me during those last few hours that you would always love me. I guess I'm asking if that's still the case."

"Are you sure that's what you want, Draco? You've hardly had anytime to process all of this. You need time to think about yourself. You shouldn't have to spend your time trying to make me happy. I don't think you quite know what you're asking for."

"Maybe you're right. I'm not sure what I'm feeling. I can't say for sure if it's love, because I don't know what that feels like. But I want to love you."

He stretched a hand out to cup her cheek.

She should have been stronger. She should have been the mature and responsible one and pulled away. He deserved some time to think, to come to terms with all that he had learned.

"You will always be my Draco," she promised, "And I will always love you. Like I said… I lost my heart a long time ago… to you. But I don't want you to rush into this. Don't try to be something you're not. You can't force yourself to love me."

"You're perfect." He smiled. "I think it could be the easiest thing in the world… falling in love with you."

She laughed to hide the fluttering beat of her heart, "It certainly wasn't easy the first time around."

He groaned. "It's not fair that I'll never know how that felt. I mean, I've seen how it happened, obviously, but there's so much that I'll never know. I'll never know what our first kiss felt like. I'll never know how it felt to see you for the first time after all those years. I can imagine, but I'll never really know for sure."

Hermione sighed, "And that's exactly what I'm talking about. You may know everything about our relationship that you need to know intellectually. But there is still so much that you haven't explored. Right now you may be able to look past that, but eventually it will all catch up with you. You still have so much left to go. You'll have to start re-learning much of your magic. I'm sure Harry's already started that process with you, and I'll be here to help. I promise. But you've gained an entire portion of your past that you didn't know about this week. Take some time and let life catch up with you, Draco."

"Okay," he nodded. "I can do that." He placed a hand on her arm and drew her closer to him, and then hesitated. "But for now, just for now, can we forget all about my memories, and our history, and our past? Can we forget about just how far I have left to go? And can I just have this instant to love you like I think I can? I'll deal with the rest tomorrow, but…can I just have one second to try and remember what it must have felt like to love you?"

She smiled, placing her hand over his. "I suppose we could do that. We'll take things slowly, just a moment at a time."

He yawned and pulled her against his chest, lying back on the bed. "I think that sounds grand. Now how about that sleep you promised me?"

Her mind momentarily objected to the idea of resting here with him, but what could it hurt? Laughing, she swatted his arm happily. She could do this. It was just to sleep. She laid her head against his chest and sighed. They would worry about everything else tomorrow.

He placed a chaste kiss on her temple and grinned.

"Just a moment at a time."

_The End._

**A/N: Phew. That's a bit how I had to write this chapter…. moment by moment. **

**Thank you to all of you who have stuck with this story! It's been a very long, intriguing, **_**insane**_** journey. It took four long years, but it is finally finished. And I can't thank you all enough for your reviews—they kept me going! I'm not sure what's next on my list… I'd like to at least write a little something about Draco and Hermione's future from here on out. I can't promise that it will be a sequel that is full-length like this one… but perhaps an epilogue, a follow-up one-shot, or a short sequel. But I thought it would be fun to explore the frustrations on Draco's part of having an incomplete past and trying to move on despite it, and the way that might affect his and Hermione's relationship. **

**If you all think that might be something you'd be interested in reading… let me know! **

**And finally, Eilonwy, I cannot possibly thank you enough for being my beta for this story. You always did a fabulous job catching all my mistakes, and your input definitely made my chapters stronger and better written. But above all, I am thankful for your encouragement. You are a wonderful writer yourself, and you always made me feel wonderful about my work too. Thank you!**


End file.
